Jackson Valley


The great Mark Twain's boyhood favorites, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, escaped from the pressures of family, school, church and approaching adult senility to Jackson's Island in the Mississippi River. My generation, and the generation before and after mine, escaped to Jackson's Valley just to the Southwest of Calgary. The Elbow River flows out of the winter snowpack and glaciers of the Rocky Mountains' Great Continental Divide. Before joining the Bow river at Calgary, the Elbow is the dividing line between the Sarcee Indian Reserve, Private heavily treed land, and a Military training area dating back to WW 1. As far as we kids were concerned, it belonged to us. We knew every inch of that river from Twin Bridges in the west, going east down stream to the Weasel Head Bridge, which was at the Delta of the Glenmore Dam reservoir, a large lake for Calgary's drinking water. The distance is about 8-10 miles.

Jackson Valley was a natural park. The military had leased the South shore area from the Sarcee Band for training from 1915 right up to the '90s. It was illegal for a non-Native to hunt or fish on the Reserve, but, as the Natives seldom ever came down to the valley, we ignored that rule. Rabbits, Ruffed Grouse and Magpies were targets for our .22 inch rifles, the first two to eat, the Magpies for the bounty. Although Deer were plentiful, we were such klutzes that we seldom saw one and, when did, it was the back end heading through the timber at great speed.

The Trout and Rocky Mountain White Fish fishing was excellent. Throughout the valley were Beaver Dams with very wary Trout visible in the clear water. In the forest you could come across an underground spring gurgling up to the surface to form a large pothole, sometimes 20 feet across and 8 feet deep. These beautiful natural basins eventually had short green water growth down the sides and across the bottom. This myrtle green lining was overlaid with sparkling clear blue water. It was delicious to slake your thirst. But cold! We used to say, "You went in like a man and came out like a boy" In reality we went in as boys and came out like infants!

We were forever going to build a cabin and, shamefully, we did chop down several Balsam fir each year. After treating our blistered hands and agreeing that, if only we had a double bitted ax there would be nothing to it, a vote was taken and it was unanimously decided a lean-to was more than adequate for our needs that year. We lashed up pretty neat lean-tos almost every year I was playing at pioneering down in Jackson Valley.

We were not only there in summer, but we did winter camping as well. We had no proper winter gear; but off we'd go with our summer gear and the addition of a small handsaw to cut up frozen carrots and spuds. We had some totally inadequate blankets, which we shared with the dogs. The only clothes we removed were our boots. My G-d it was cold!

Frozen canned beans would thaw and cook quite well in an open campfire, once you remembered to punch a hole in the top of the can as a steam release valve. We only forgot this hole once! As I recall we put a couple of 48 oz cans of beans in the fire without a puncture and we all went off to check our Trot-lines (Illegal unattended fishing line). There were two bangs from the area of our camp. We rushed back to find smoldering branches burning holes in our sleeping gear and hot embers scattered about the campsite. Beans and sauce were unevenly strewn about the area. The main lot was on and in the inside the roof of our Lean-to. This led to chaps lying down at night and, much like Monkeys grooming each other, the ceiling was groomed and the "Groomer' was eating the beans one at a time.

Why we never died of ptomaine poison escapes me to this day. We had one old cast-iron frying pan, one beat up 4qt pot with lid, and a Billycan for coffee or tea, every one of these as black as the inside of a termite. Cleaning was done with sand at the river. They were cached in the valley and I expect are still there. All the Cowboy books we ever read said that Billy the Kid, The Lone Ranger, Destery Rides Again, et al ate only Bacon, Chile Beans and what they could shoot. We pretty much stuck by "The Code of the West's menu." A Stew was acceptable only if everyone agreed that the potatoes were Lily Pad roots, the carrots were Cattail roots and the onions were Wild Garlic or Skunk cabbage. The meat was Grizzly Bear, naturally. Once in a while, someone would bring wieners, but we let on that they were pemmican brought in by our trusted Scout Tonto from Star Light village up on the bluff of the Sarcee Reserve. We could see the Village lights way up on the south hill. Even today we all agree that while we were eating pseudo pemmican wiener and sleeping on the ground at -20F we were in paradise. The Natives, on the other hand, were forced to eat Steak and Lobster while watching The Ed Sullivan Show. We all know those Native folks probably wished they were down in the valley with us, enjoying picking the beans out of the Lean-to ceiling's Balsa Fir boughs.

How we saw our selves.

Thanks to Gun Fighter Art

How we really were!

Thanks to ~ Martin Heitshu

Puberty, the great neutralizer, came to some earlier than to others. Trying to organize a campout in the valley became more difficult over time. Some of the lads decided that girls were more fun than cooking chili and stringy Snowshoe rabbit and let the side down. This, however, did not really change the valley. Our kids grew up and out they went to escape civilization during their youth. But NOW with air mattresses, sleeping bags, pop up tents and enough food to open a restaurant. No guns or traps, but still fishing rods are OK and, sad to say, you have to take your own drinking water as none is safe to drink any more due to up stream development.

I went for a drive to Brag Creek with a lady friend not long ago, passing the west entrance to Jackson Valley I looked down the river. The North side, which is privately owned, is having big manor houses built along the river and up on the bluff. The beautiful fir trees are being cleared for more houses. The people who have destroyed a sacred place will never enjoy it as much as we did. There is a very old expression " Never go back to old camp fires, all that is left is ashes."

So I guess its time for Tom, Huck, Bernie, Petie, Brock and many others sons of Jackson's Valley or Jackson's Island to grow up. But I don't want to! Growing up just makes you old and sleeping on the ground at -20F is not as much fun as it used to be. When you're young, life is always an adventure and every day is to be savored. If you must grow old, treasure your Jackson's Valley memories. There are fewer and fewer special places left to kill Grizzly Bears with just your knife and youthful daring do.

© Jack C. Downey CD



Jack C. Downey CD
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