A true tale of how the Damfino Creek water tower got its name…
The year was 1977. The season was summer. I was in paradise working as a temporary hydrologic technician.
Stationed on the Hayden Ranger District of the Medicine Bow National Forest in south-central Wyoming, my job was inventory and stabilization. Inventory of eroding road cuts and fills that were directly delivering sediment to area streams. Stabilization using log check dams across their slopes so native road material would stay in place. Not a bad way to earn a few bucks for college.
I was provided a pickup truck, field equipment, and a map. One day, while pouring over the map trying to figure out where I was, I noticed a creek called Damfino. I chuckled at the name, and wondered the history behind it. Then I made a mental note by adding it to my bucket list of places to explore.
Suddenly it was 1978 through 1986. The seasons were winter, spring, summer, and fall. I was back in paradise, but now working as a full-time hydrologist.
Still stationed on the Hayden Ranger District of the Medicine Bow National Forest in south-central Wyoming, my job was teaming with an awesome group of colleagues. Our focus was multiple use management of public lands for the benefit of all. Not a bad gig. Not bad at all.
I was provided responsibility, reward, and vacation time. One day, one of those years, I recalled my Damfino Creek bucket list mental note. The next day I took vacation time and went hiking in that mysterious place.
Damfino if I knew what to expect…
I drove my quarter-pound pickup truck to the end of the Blackhall Mountain Road. I made the short climb to the top of Blackhall Mountain, whose highest rocks tickle the bellies of clouds if they decide to float by at 10,979 feet above sea level. (Sometimes you can hear them giggle. I swear to the Cloud God.)
I took a short detour to the top of the Blackhall Mountain Fire Lookout. A two-story wooden shelter balanced in metasedimentary rocks. While enjoying the 360-degree panorama, I pondered what life must have been like to work a summer in a fire lookout watching for forest fires. The writeup at the above link explains it well. I’m jealous.
After a while I scrambled down from the fire lookout, memories of Lassie abounding as I walked along.
The hike from the fire tower to the headwaters of Damfino Creek was a short, southwesterly jaunt along timberline. Krummolz thrives at that locale, providing shelter for blue grouse and snowshoe hare. Protection from arctic blasts of cold, wind, and snow. 40 degrees below zero. 100 mph gusts. 120 inches of packed powder.
I walked along the Damfino Creek divide with Coon Creek, its neighbor to the north. I then dropped to the watershed interior, passing through ancient Englemann spruce stands, lush with 40-inch diameter trees. Eventually, I transitioned to lodgepole pine stands with their grouse whortleberry and pine grass understories.
And occasionally remnant tree stumps. Stumps standing 3 to 4 feet high. Bygones of the railroad tie-hacking days. Even more occasional, tie-hack cabins dilapidated to rotten logs. Logs that once provided shelter to the hardy tie-hacker Swedes that made a living in the middle of nowhere Wyoming.
Ghosts of Damfino past…
And then I heard it. As I was alone in the Damfino Creek water tower. A small part of the vast public lands in Wyoming.
Two men talking. Both with a strong Swedish accent. Brothers? Buddies? I wondered.
Then I saw their ghostly presence mingling in the trees. Clothing fit for tie-hacking. Axes in their hands.
I slowly inched forward. Struggled to hear their words. Then one looked directly at the other. Rubbed his fingers through his beard. Raised his voice an octave or two. And said “Hey pardner! Where are we?”
The other glanced my way. I swear he saw me. Then he pulled his coat tight around his neck. He looked down at the snow beneath his feet. And said, after a moment or two, “damfino!”
Until next time, enjoy your public lands. And keep your politicians informed on your opinion(s) of them.
Happy Thanksgiving America!