Retracing the route of the Battle of Peters Hill, which occurred in August, 1875

by Rob Adams
Contributing writer
On August 17, 1875, it had been three days since any of the 13 men of the Hayden Survey Party assigned to map southeast Utah had felt the trickle of clear water over their parched tongues.
The only thing they’d had to drink was so alkaline or muddy that they could barely swallow without triggering a violent gag reflex.
If that weren’t enough, people out there in the cedar trees were shooting at them. They had a good idea of the men behind the triggers, but they were so far away and well-hidden that they were lucky to see a puff of smoke from their rifles, much less a face.
Two divisions of the Hayden group, numbering 13 in all, led by James T. Gardner and Henry Gannett, stopped at the Ute Agency near Saguache, CO.
There, they were told by Ouray, the Ute chief appointed by the US Government to speak for all seven Ute bands, that they would receive decent treatment.
But when Ouray learned they were headed for southeast Utah near present-day La Sal, he knew there would be trouble, explaining that the Indians in that isolated corner were a strange amalgam of several tribes, including Utes, Paiutes, Jicarilla Apache, and Navajo, who felt allegiance only to themselves.
They didn’t consider themselves bound by anything Ouray said. Hearing this, Gardner and Gannett joined their two groups, knowing the larger group could more easily defend itself.
After successfully enduring several days of rain, they finished mapping the La Sal mountains. With the rain of the past few days, they never imagined that one of their most difficult immediate challenges would be finding enough to drink.
But once on the trail, the sun beat down on them without mercy, sucking water from every pore as they lost elevation. The view to the south across the expansive desert, punctuated by deep canyons and red-and-white striated sandstone ridges, suggested what lay ahead, whether or not they were willing to read the clues.
Today, each time I travel from the north and reach Dry Valley, I am overcome with emotion as I approach the place I will always call home.
But to those men, seeing it for the first time, it likely looked more like the valley of the shadow of death. The only way into it, over sandstone and blow sand; the only way out, through Peter’s Canyon on the south end, where fresh water at Peter’s Spring awaited them if they were lucky enough to make it that far.
As evening approached on their first day, one of the men looked over his shoulder to see a hostile-looking band of natives coming toward them at a gallop. They breathed a little easier when the dust settled enough for them to count only five. But, as soon as they counted the fifth man, another plume of dust arose, revealing four more. All nine Indians were heavily armed.
The surveyors soon arrived at a series of muddy, stagnant puddles in the bottom of a wash, and the nine pursuers descended upon them.
Making no hostile gestures, the leader began an earnest attempt to convince the group that this was the last damp ground they would see until they broke out on top at Peter’s Spring.
True enough, but when the leader, James Gardner, looked up at the rocks and dirt banks that surrounded them, as the other Indians quickly took inventory of everything the survey party was carrying, particularly the firearms, he had a vision of what would likely happen if they camped where they were. They had no choice but to press on.
The Indians allowed them a few minutes’ head start before they began to follow. Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Given the feigned friendliness at the mudholes, they wanted to think the bullet was meant for a rabbit, but a few seconds later, the bullet from another shot struck the ground in the middle of the group, confirming their worst fears. There would be a fight.
The surveyors, mounted on mules that hadn’t had a good drink in days, were no match for the Indians on horses that were well-fed and watered, and had an unfettered ability to outmaneuver them.
They were fighting in a place they’d never been, facing an opponent who knew every square inch.
They camped in an open sagebrush plain where the closest hiding place was a ravine 300 yards away, and a wooded ridge at 500. Guards were posted through the night.
The outlook was bleak; the surveyors had seven accurate long-range, breech-loading rifles and four large revolvers. The handguns were next to useless in the long-range battle.
The ammunition was neither abundant nor very good, but the worst of their situation was that for 13 men, only two quarts of muddy water remained.
The bullets kept coming, but from such a distance that none landed close enough to inflict harm. The surveyors returned fire, clearly demonstrating their superior weaponry, but the assault continued, only from a greater distance.
The best hope for survival was for them to reach the plateau surrounding Peter’s Canyon, either on the west or on the east, where they could fight their opponent on equal terms.
In the light of a full moon, they struck camp a couple of hours after midnight and were on the trail an hour later.
The Indians, on faster animals, and above them, were able to see every move and quickly block any advance.
At first sight, getting above Peter’s Canyon is best done on the west side, but they were stopped at every attempt.
They soon realized that, despite what appeared to be a line of insurmountable vertical cliffs on the east side, it was their only escape to the high ground.
They abandoned their route from west of Peter’s Canyon to the east while praying desperately for an open breakout to safety. As soon as the party changed direction and headed that way, the enemy saw it and moved in a flash to block the advance.
When they reached the wash at the bottom, where the highway now is, there were 400 yards of open country to cross.
To their surprise, there seemed to be nothing to block a peaceful crossing, but when they rounded a point of rock, they were met by a barrage of gunfire. Thick smoke from the gunfire could be seen, but the men firing were well hidden and far away.
Once they reached the sandstone bluff, they tried to find a passage through, but couldn’t, though there were still places they hadn’t seen. James Gardner, leader of the group, later wrote in his journal:
“It was evident now that every point to which we could make would be occupied, for the fleet horses of the enemy enabled them to ride round us at their pleasure. To go forward was to fight, to go back was to fight, and always with an unseen enemy.
“The sun was beginning to burn us up again; we had had no water since noon the previous day and knew of no place where it was to be found.”
At this point, Gardner called for a vote. The choices were to go back to the bottom and fight their way up the canyon, to go back to the valley with no water, or continue their search for a way up. They pressed on.
Three men went ahead and found the break in the cliff they had prayed for, but on their descent to join the group, they noticed a small number of Indians had come closer than ever, yet were still well concealed.
Suddenly, there was a bang, and a rush of air from a bullet passing by. When the rifle smoke cleared, the Indian who fired the shot was in clear view.
Shep Madera, a camp hand and former soldier, fired a shot, and the Indian dropped instantly. This would be the only human casualty of the skirmish.
While they found a narrow deer trail through the sandstone bluff, it wouldn’t be easy. There was no way the heavily loaded pack mules would make it. They stopped to repack and leave behind anything non-essential.
They packed enough food to reach survey headquarters in Parrott City (present-day Mayday, north of Hesperus) and their survey notes.
These items were carefully arranged into two 50 lb. packs. In the process, they drank several cans of tomatoes, likely the best drink they had for a couple of days, and no doubt helped sustain them in the trip ahead.
The discard pile included survey instruments, valued at $2,500 to $3,000 in 1875 ($75,000 today).
Four days after breaking above Peter’s Canyon, the group reached Parrott City. Left behind were three mules shot dead, and one lost, all survey instruments, baggage, and personal property of the surveyors. In the melee, they saved the lives of all 13 men, and the scientific records of the work completed.
Today, the trail through the rock cliff is used only by deer. The discarded items remained among the rocks and pinion trees for nearly 90 years until a uranium geologist stumbled upon an old survey transit lying under a tree where the surveyors left it.
That discovery rekindled interest in finding everything the Hayden group left behind. Most of the items were eventually found and taken to the American Heritage Museum in Laramie, WY.