In the vast, untamed expanses of eastern Nevada, the winter of ’63-’64 presented a unique blend of promise and peril for hardy prospectors. This vivid account delves into one such harrowing experience, where the solitude of the wilderness and the onset of a blizzard transformed a routine prospecting trip into a night filled with imagined dangers and real fear, culminating in a comical revelation about the true nature of the wild varmints that haunted a snow-bound prospector.
Our tale begins high in the Toi-ya-be Range, a formidable barrier on the eastern edge of the Reese River Valley, where two prospectors believed they had struck gold in a vein of yellow quartzite they aptly named “Real del Monte.” Situated within a deep, narrow canyon, almost impassable due to its creek and dense thickets of birch and willows, their camp was a small, excavated platform offering just enough space for a tent and a campfire by the water’s edge. The canyon, coursing from east to west at an elevation of roughly 10,000 feet, featured a nearly sheer south wall and a gently sloping north hillside where their promising mine shaft was located.
The Mild Winter’s Deception and the Sudden Storm
Initially, the winter had been uncharacteristically mild, bringing little to no snow, allowing for eager work on their fledgling mine. This period of calm, however, was merely a prelude to the dramatic change that arrived in March. Snow began to fall with a rapid intensity, an entirely new experience for one of the partners, who, initially, found the novelty exciting. The sounds of the wilderness—the sharp barking of coyotes and the yelps of other wild varmints—began to punctuate the peaceful night, gradually building a sense of unease.
The next day brought an unforeseen turn: the narrator’s partner departed for a camp 20 miles away, leaving him utterly alone in the increasingly hostile environment. As evening descended, the snow intensified, forcing him to extinguish the campfire, rolling a large pine log onto the embers to preserve coals for the morning. Retreating into the tent, he laced the flap shut, seeking warmth and refuge from the growing storm. The snow’s weight pressed heavily upon the willows along the creek, causing them to bend and snap with startling regularity, each sound amplifying the piercing “ki-yi’s” of the coyotes. His nerves, already frayed, began to stretch to their breaking point, especially as tales of mountain lions and cinnamon bears frequenting the area resurfaced in his mind, making the surrounding woods seem suddenly populated by unseen predators.
A Night of Terror: Imagined Threats in the Deep Snow
A horrifying realization then struck him: his partner had taken their only firearm, a revolver, rendering him utterly defenseless against any potential attack. The snow continued its relentless descent, accumulating rapidly, reaching three feet deep by midnight as he could discern from pressing against the tent walls. The incessant cries of the coyotes and other animals continued, weaving a terrifying soundscape that made the dark canyon feel alive with bloodthirsty beasts, seemingly drawing ever closer. Miles from any other human habitation, the crushing weight of loneliness merged with his helpless situation, amplifying his dread in the snow-bound wilderness.
A brief lull in the animals’ cries offered a fleeting respite, allowing him to drift into a light, restless sleep. However, he was jolted awake by a distinct noise from the hillside directly behind and above his tent. This area, usually covered with loose slate slabs, was now blanketed in snow, but an animal was clearly moving, its footsteps causing the slate to shift and slide. His heart pounded with a terrifying rhythm as he fully awakened. The smoldering pitch pine log, which he had left for coals, had unexpectedly flared into a blazing bonfire directly in front of his tent, casting his shadow grotesquely large upon the tent wall behind him, making him a conspicuous target.
Desperate Measures and a Startling Racket
The animal persisted in its movements, pacing back and forth on the hillside, seemingly inspecting and preparing for an imminent pounce upon his vulnerable canvas shelter. Frozen by sheer terror, his mind raced. He knew there was no weapon, no escape into the four-foot-deep snow. Cold sweat trickled down his face, and he harbored a chilling certainty that his hair would turn white before dawn. Amidst this paralyzing fear, a thought surfaced: the covered box containing their cooking utensils, and within it, a large butcher knife. With a surge of adrenaline, he slipped from under his blankets and crawled stealthily towards the box.
Raising the lid, he plunged his hand inside, only to send a cascade of tin pans and spoons clattering to the ground. The sudden cacophony, akin to a boisterous charivari, was deafening. He wildly groped for the knife, his terror-stricken mind bracing for an immediate attack. The animal, startled by the racket, retreated momentarily before cautiously returning. This brief reprieve allowed him to snatch the knife and assume a defensive stance. Then, an eerie silence descended once more. The snow continued to fall heavily, its flakes illuminated by the firelight, and the occasional crash of snow-laden willows intensified the profound quiet. As no immediate attack followed, he retreated under his blankets, the bitter cold seeping into his bones, and lay there, clutching the knife tightly, poised for whatever the night would bring.
The Unveiling: A Humorous Revelation at Dawn
The animal remained silent, its presence a constant, terrifying enigma. He reasoned it could not have left without a sound, and the suspense became nearly unbearable. Unable to move until daylight, he strained his ears against every sound, but the creature offered no further clue. Eventually, the cramped position and exhaustion overcame him, and he sank into a fitful sleep, only to awaken with a start at dawn, still clutching the knife in a death grip.
Listening intently, he slowly rose and cautiously unlaced the tent flap. The snow now stood four feet deep. The nearest camp was miles away, but he was resolved to reach it, vowing never to endure such a night again, even for all the silver mines in Nevada, even if they were all “Real Del Montes.” With the utmost caution, he pulled on his boots, buttoned his coat, tightened his grip on the knife, and waded into the deep snow around the corner of the tent. He peered cautiously up the hillside, his heart pounding in anticipation of a fearsome predator. There, half-buried in the snow, standing right over his tent, was the source of his night-long terror: a lone jackass.
Conclusion: The Power of Perception in the Wild Frontier
The night of terror, fueled by isolation, a raging blizzard, and an overactive imagination, dissolved into a moment of profound relief and unexpected humor. This experience, meticulously recounted by William Daugherty in 1891, serves as a poignant reminder of the psychological toll and the often-exaggerated fears faced by early prospectors in the remote American West. While the wilderness held genuine dangers, sometimes the most terrifying wild varmints were merely figments of a mind stretched to its limits by loneliness and the relentless grip of a snow-bound night. It underscores the resilient, often stoic, yet deeply human spirit required to brave the frontier, where even a common beast of burden could become the subject of an epic, fear-filled ordeal. Daugherty’s tale captures the raw, unfiltered reality of pioneer life, a testament to both the harshness of nature and the remarkable adaptability of the human spirit.
