Rendezvous with Destiny

"Well, if nothing else," remarked Dear Wife as we bumped and creaked our way along the forest service road "we’re seeing some good potential camping spots". I couldn’t help but agree although the further we drove into uncharted (at least for us) territory, the more I wondered just exactly what we’d find when we eventually arrived at the Mountain Man Rendezvous. It was our first, and we really didn’t know what to expect.

170 years ago, the Mountain Man Rendezvous was basically one big honkin’ party for the fur trappers, and natives who spent the rest of the year living off the land while they collected pelts of all descriptions to sell at this once a year get together. For most, it was the only time of the year they could let rip and have some fun. Not only was it the occasion to sell furs and trade for new supplies, but also to meet up with old friends, swap stories and lies, and most importantly, get roaring drunk on rot-gut alcohol.

Contests were held as the trappers and Indians showed their ability with rifle, tomahawk and knife. There were also running races, jumping contests and horse races. Even better, there was gambling. Exciting times indeed and things only got better when the trading company finally showed up.

Now, the trappers and Indians could trade their hard earned pelts for the items that they needed to get them through the coming year – powder and lead, blankets, utensils, clothes, tobacco, food, hats, rifles, knives and other items too numerous to mention. And, once all the year’s necessities had been purchased, the rest of the credit could be spent on the serious business of partying. Alcohol and women were available for the asking and by the time things wound down, after about two weeks, few had any money remaining.

Within a surprisingly short time however, the west was settled by pioneers and farmers moving west. Top hats made of Chinese silk became the fashion and the beaver pelt trade disappeared almost overnight. The men who’d made their solitary living by hunting, fishing and trapping became an anachronism although like the cowboy, were still able to show off their talents at the rodeos, many of which survive to this day.

Fortunately, historical enthusiasts have revived the traditions of the Mountain Man Rendezvous and many use their vacation time to travel to camps around the west where they dress in period costume, give classes in pioneer skills and as much as is possible in the 21st century, live the way the original mountain men would have done. There are three rendezvous held each year in our area and while I’ve read a lot about them, have never managed to see one until now so was looking forward to it no end. But I was experiencing a nagging doubt that the whole thing might be overrated and we were simply going to roll up to a campsite with half a dozen good ol’ boys sitting in lawn chairs, and drinking Bud Light whilst wearing funny clothes.

So it was something of a relief to skirt a small hill and see an entire village of tepees, tents and other period looking shelters off in the distance. This, we later learned, was the 'Primitive Camp', for those who took their reenactments seriously. There were two modern camps as well, one allowing generators, the other not, but they were parked discreetly out of sight. A gentleman wearing period costume and a red and white striped shirt that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a rodeo clown directed us into the parking area where we took our place alongside the diesel trucks and SUVs favored by so many modern-day mountain men.

A short hike along the trail took us to the admission tent where a young man with a…’period’ accent directed us inside where a helpful lady gave us a leaflet explaining the rules (Primitive clothing must be worn in Primitive Camp between 6pm and 8am; No post 1840 weapons in camp; among others) and told us to enjoy our visit.

That set the tone for the day. One in which we were visiting with some incredibly polite people. Not just friendly in the way that so many Americans are, but out and out gracious. I’m not sure if this was all part of the period act, or if these were simply exceptionally affable people but it became a little disconcerting after a while as we felt the need to respond in kind and each conversation took on an unreal tone. Everybody wanted to know if we were on vacation, or just up from the city for the day. As most were from out of state, few were familiar with our hometown of Bailey although one gent from Nebraska recollected that he got gas there.

"What did you eat?" I asked, but as my humor so often does, it went way over his head.

"I didn’t eat" he replied, "but I remember paying a lot to fill up my truck."

The period costumes were a sight to see, ranging from ladies in gingham dresses to gents wearing anything from Davy Crocket style frontiersman outfits, to Last of the Mohicans type buckskin leggings. (Note to any prospective Mountain Man re-enactors – leather leggings with bare thighs is not a good look for most guys, no matter how dashing Daniel Day-Lewis looked in the movie.)

And so we moseyed along the row of vendors selling reproductions of early 19th century goods. Period clothing, hats, knives, eyeglasses, and jewelry as you’d expect but each with that authentic home-made look that distinguished them from the modern day article. A lot of the stuff appeared to be genuine antique, others were obviously new but created with care to ensure it was as close as possible to that which would have been on sale 170 years ago.

Sadly, the prices were quite definitely 21st century, and while there were lots of fascinating goodies, none of them quite fit into the ‘have to have’ category. I would willingly have paid over the odds for something to eat, and fully expected to, but it turned out none of the food vendors had arrived yet. I saw a guy dressed in buckskin leggings working his way through a tasty looking turkey sandwich but he told me he’d brought that himself.

And so it was, that hunger drove us away. Back to our air-conditioned car and the paved road and the town, where food comes pre-caught, pre-packaged and pre-cooked. Not very 19th century and I feel we’ve lost a lot of the charm along the way.

Didn’t stop me from eating it though.