A Montana Pioneer Trek to 'Remember'

Trekking under Montana's Big Sky

In a word, the Stevensville Montana Stake pioneer trek was AWESOME! It took place on the Hairpin Ranch in the Big Hole Valley. The theme was “Remember," as in remember the Mormon pioneers and how we relate our experiences to theirs.

Ensign Company: Holyoak, Kanenwisher & Revelli families

Here a few of the many high notes:

• Lori and I were Ma and Pa to 17 great kids from across the Bitterroot Valley
• We trekked a total of 22+ miles over 3 days 
• We pushed handcarts that weighed 300 lbs before we loaded any of our gear on it 
• Our kids never complained about anything, got to be real friends with each other, and loved gathering with their Ma & Pa at meals and other times each day 

Sky turns gray

On the second day, a gnarly looking storm was about to hit when we headed for the trees. We bundled together under some smaller willow bushes as the rain and then pea-, marble-, and eventually grape-sized hail started to pelt down as the winds whipped all around us. Our campsite was on a high mountain prairie in the Big Hole and it got plastered! The winds snapped tent poles and the hail put holes in many tents, including part of the rainfly on ours. Half to two thirds of the tents got blown over and the water poured in and soaked everything. (We later found out this storm caused something like $40 million in crop damage and caused more damage as it rolled through the town of Twin Bridges.) As the companies eventually made it back to camp they all started putting the tents back up and hung up the sleeping bags to try to get them dried.

 

Seeking shelter under the willows

We didn’t have enough daylight so the sleeping bags, including Lori’s and those belonging to 8 of our 10 boys, remained soaked with the temperatures falling. After dinner, the leaders asked everyone with a soaked sleeping bag to load it on a trailer for a run to Dillon (about 25 miles away) to dry them at two laundromats. I’m guessing 60 to 80 sleeping bags got loaded up.

Soaked!

Our seven girls were spared but they didn’t want to go to bed since our boys and I had no sleeping bag to sleep in so we stayed around the fire to wait for the trailer’s return. It was really cool to see all 19 of us jammed shoulder to shoulder around the fire, talking, telling jokes, growing closer and having a good time. Eventually, Lori and the girls went to bed but the guys and I stayed up. Then at about 1 a.m. or later, the trailer returned. We were among the first to greet it. It was so cool to be at the trailer and look back to see kids with flashlights and headlamps sprinting toward the trailer from all across the field. They looked like fireflies in the night as their lights bobbed and they screamed and yelled for joy. Twenty minutes later, everyone was back in their wiped-down tents –those that survived the storm anyway— for the night. A bunch of kids actually slept in their sleeping bags in the trailer and others slept around their fires. (Hallie’s sleeping bag also got soaked.) We trekked another 6+ miles the next day to finish things out. 

Warming our bodies & our souls around the fire

Those are just a few experiences. Again, it was a such a great time. I attended to a lot of church youth and youth-related activities over the years, from the time I was a teenager until now, and this was by far my favorite!

Four of my girls: Ceara, Olivia, Heather & Natasha

Below are the words from a talk I gave at a post-trek youth fireside:

"Everyone, circle to the left..."

Remember…

to recall to the mind by an act or effort of memory; 

to keep in mind; remain aware of, think of again.

A break along the trail

Recognize

Relive

Recollect

Reminisce

E's moose paddle

Remember our trek.

Remember the bus ride there.

Remember meeting your trek family.

Remember thinking these kids (hold up lid) –my 17 kids—are awesome!

Remember the new friendships you made and strengthened.

Remember the closeness you felt to your new brother, your new sister, your Ma, your Pa (put hat on--"Gotta represent!"), your captain and fellow company and camp members –and in the Holyoak family specifically— remember the closeness felt to our “young ‘un” Ephraim, born on the trail that first day and after just 8 hours with him it was as if he was already 8 years old.

Souvenir lid signed  by my kids

Looking back on camp

Remember the steps you took.

Remember walking side by side, helping each other, and making new friends.

Remember willingly changing places on the handcart without being asked.

Remember hauling your ailing Pa and then your sick Ma.

Remember allemande left, dosey doe and promenade home. 

Remember the hot sun.

Remember the building black clouds.

Remember running for cover.

Remember the rain pouring down.

Remember the grape-sized hail stones.

Remember the teamwork of the first trekkers who arrived to a camp in shambles--going from tent to tent, setting them back up, pulling out soaked sleeping bags and hanging them on handcarts and around fires to try to dry them.

Welcome back to camp

Ensign Company...remember returning to camp that same day to be greeted by the cheering Heritage and Legacy Companies.

Remember sitting around the campfire as the temperatures dropped wondering when, where or if we’d sleep that night.

Remember the “miracle of the dried sleeping bags.”

Remember the hoots and howls of joy while running to the trailer well past midnight.

Remember feeling thankful.

Remember the late night firesides with your families.

Pa got "sick" on the trail...pioneer children walked as they sang and sang and sang...Ma got "sick" too

One step down and thousands to go

Remember the feelings you felt as read the letters from your loved ones back home or from your trek parents. 

Remember the critter stew, barbecue chicken, dutch oven peach cobbler, the pancakes, the bacon…and those who worked so hard to prepare it all. 

Remember the planning, service and sacrifice from our stake members and leaders in making the trek possible.

Trail games:  Stick pull...

...and tug o war

Remember the blisters, chapped lips, sunburns and the aching muscles and feet.

Remember the women’s pull.

Remember the looks on their faces as they toiled up the hill without the help of any Ma’s, Pa’s, or brothers.

Remember the heartfelt thoughts and feelings that brought to mind.

Women's Pull: Men not allowed to help because many "died off" leaving mothers, daughters & sisters to do the work

Remember the true pioneer stories of unparalleled courage and sacrifice you heard along the trail.

"Remember, remember my sons and daughters..."

Remember the challenges issued to each of us by our bishops and other stake leaders:

• Young men: to live a life of virtue
• Young women: to be a modern day pioneer and serve others
• To all: to make memories, sacrifice, and to act our part whether at school, church, home or elsewhere 

Teamwork on the trail

Grabbing some shut-eye

Remember the final trek back to the buses.

Remember the feeling of accomplishment as you put down the 300 pound handcart for the last time.

Remember the thoughts and feelings as you gathered as a family for the last time already looking forward to the next time you’d see together.

Our family flag

Remember– again in the Holyoak family, a.k.a. the Hopper Chompers— watching some of my girls eat grasshoppers just as their brother James did again and again and again all trek long.

Remember the real pioneers.

Remember what they sacrificed.

Remember who you are.

Years ago, I was a young sportscaster in Topeka, Kansas. At the time, Lawrence High School in Lawrence, Kansas, dominated high school football like no other team anywhere.

• 31 undefeated seasons…the most of any school in the entire U-S 
• since 1945, Lawrence won 26 state championships 
• entering the 1993 season, the Lions won seven 6-A state titles over the previous 9 years, including the last 4 in a row 

On November 21, 1993, I was on the campus of Wichita State University, with a TV camera on my shoulder, shooting a couple of state championships from smaller classifications.

James the "Hopper Chomper"

Over the loud speaker we heard this scoring update: “From the 6-A championship game in Manhattan, it’s halftime. Derby leads Lawrence 23-0.” Shock and surprise rippled through the crowd. True, Derby was 11-0 on the season but so were the mighty Lions who had won their previous 33 games in a row over the previous 26 months! They had only losses 8 over the previous 10 years! Play continued and just after my game finished there was another announcement: “We have a final score from the 6-A championship in Manhattan: Lawrence 27, Derby 23.” Again, shock and amazement. My question as a sportscaster was: “What did the coaching staff say at halftime to trigger such an incredible comeback?”

Here’s what happened:

Head Coach Dick Purdy allowed the frustrated players to sit in the locker room by themselves and think about what happened in the first half. He then walked in, said nothing, went to the chalk board and wrote four simple words: “Remember who you are,” and walked out. 

The team remembered who it was.
Players remembered they were 4-time defending state champions.
They remembered that they were playing for tradition.
They remembered that their brothers were also state champions.
They went out and played like champions.
They remembered who they were. 

My message to you is remember, remember who you are. 

Remember what you represent. 

Remember who you represent—your God, your Savior, His true church, your ward, your friends, your family, your parents, your brothers, your sisters, yourself! 

Love that Ma Holyoak!

Camp on the horizon

My friends… 

Yes, I am an “old guy,” but you are my friends—my new, young friends. 

On behalf of the other Ma’s and Pa’s, thank you for your example and for what you represent. 

Always, always remember who you are. I salute you and close in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Holyoak family
(top row, left to right: Ian Roberts, Caroline Maki, Ceara Chavez, Sarah Erhart, Karill Apedaile, Heather Hudson, Olivia Vai, Natasha Kitzinger, Josh Jones, Trey Anderson, Kaedin Schweitzer. Bottom row: Nicholas Fullbright, Riley Duce, Bryton Palmer, James Bess, Pa Holyoak, Ma Holyoak. Not pictured: Ethan Recht and Ephraim Apedaile.) 

Stolen Valor

I don’t get really angry about a lot of things, but flat out dishonesty is one of them.  And this is a double whammy of dishonesty.  



Xavier Alvarez

Medal of Honor

The 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco just ruled that Americans have a constitutional right to lie about military service.  Here’s the deal:  back in 2006 Congress overwhelmingly approved what’s called the Stolen Valor Act, which made it a crime to lie about receiving a military medal or service badge.  One year later, a man in California, Xavier Alvarez, claimed he was a Marine and a winner of the Medal of Honor, the nation’s highest military award.  He is neither.  Alvarez pled guilty on condition he could appeal on First Amendment grounds.  An Associated Press report stated the 9th Circuit judges agreed “that the law was a violation of his free-speech rights. The majority said there’s no evidence that such lies harm anybody, and there’s no compelling reason for the government to ban such lies.”  

Doesn’t harm anybody?  Let me exercise my free speech rights and tell you, Mr. Alvarez, and you, judges on the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, that your actions do hurt people!  Your actions hurt the men and women of the armed services and their families.  This ruling, which condones dishonest and anti-American behavior, comes at a time when some men and women serving abroad are not returning home because they gave their lives serving in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other regions around the world.

Let me tell you a true story about valor.  It’s about one of my heroes.  His name is Thomas Vernon Holyoak.  Grandpa Vern answered a call to serve in the United States Army.  He never personally told me about his service abroad because he did not like war. Luckily, my father convinced him to record what happened before he died so his posterity would know about his service and his experience.

Grandpa left his home in southern Utah in November of 1942. He endured a voyage of more than two weeks to join his company in Africa.  When he arrived, he witnessed World War II first-hand.  After defeating the enemy in the African theater, his unit took part in the invasion of Sicily.  He spent time in the cities of Catania and Palermo (cities I lived in 40 years later while serving as a Mormon missionary).  After again driving out the enemy, his company traveled to England to prepare for the invasion of France.  Grandpa Vern’s unit landed on Omaha Beach.  He spent more than two years with Allied troops as they pushed through France, Holland, Belgium and into Germany where he fought in many campaigns.  He served as a weapons runner, delivering ammunition to the mortar battalion along the front lines.  Seeking a place to sleep on one particular night, he and some fellow soldiers found a German pillbox.  They removed the German bodies inside to make enough room to lay down.  Severe stomach ailments, which later turned out to be an ulcer, forced him off the front lines in Germany and into a hospital for two weeks back in England.  During that time, 90 percent of his unit lost their lives during a fierce battle with the Germans at the Bridge of Remagen.

Upon his release from the hospital, Grandpa received orders to report to southern France where he assisted in guarding 50,000 German prisoners (see some of them below in a photo Grandpa carried with him as a soldier).  He said many of them looked very young, like they were 10 or 12 years old,  He said he felt sorry for them.



Prisoner of war enclosure near Marsielle, France 1945







Corporal Vern Holyoak & Lieutenant Emma Holyoak (his sister) in Marsielle, France 1945





Grandpa Vern was in Paris on May 8, 1945 for V-E Day, when the Allies accepted the unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany marking the end of Adolph Hitler’s Third Reich.  Three months later, he received orders to return home.  As he flew on board a B-17 to Casablanca, French Morocco, a report came over the radio confirming Japan’s official surrender. World War II was finally over.

 

Bronze Star

Thomas Vernon Holyoak was a man of valor.  He fought in seven campaigns:  North Africa, Sicily, Normandy, Northern France, the Battle of the Bulge, the Rhineland and Southern France.  The Army awarded him a battle star for each campaign.  He was also awarded a Bronze Star for hauling ammunition while under fire in Germany.  The commanding general gave his mortar battalion a commendation for its efforts in Germany.  He also received the Good Conduct Medal at the prisoner of war enclosure in southern France.

I, Mark Vernon Holyoak, am proud to be his grandson and his namesake.

Those who serve in the Armed Services are men and women of valor. They represent us. They fight for us. They protect us. They and their families sacrifice for us. They deserve our support. They deserve our loyalty. They deserve our honesty.

(This was originally published in 2011 when Alvarez was already serving a prison sentence for fraud after his conviction of registering his ex-wife for health benefits with his former employer. On June 28, 2012, the Supreme Court ruled the Stolen Valor Act was an unconstitutional abridgment of the freedom of speech under the First Amendment, striking down the law in a 6-to-3 decision.)

Big Fish in the Bitterroot

I love to fish, more specifically fly fish. To me, the whole process is enjoyable—from sitting down to tie flies in the winter to hitting the water when it starts to warm up in the spring. Once in the water, there’s just something about watching a trout rise to the surface and strike at a fly. Some of the smaller fish will jump completely out of the water to get that fly while the larger ones just nose above the water to “sip” it in.

My favorite place to fish, by far, is in a smaller stream with pockets, deep holes, small riffles and overhangs or logs along the bank. I love walking along in the water, feeling the current, hearing the churning of the water and keeping an eye out for other wildlife.


The beautiful Bitterroot River

 My latest outing was completely different yet a heck of a lot of fun. I had a friend (thanks Cameron) who won a 2/3rds day guided fishing outing trip but he could not use it so he passed it on to me. I’d only been in a drift boat one other time and none of the three of us caught anything all day, except when we pulled over and I wandered off to do some wade fishing.

John's first fish on a fly rod

I met up with my guide, friend and Grizzly Hackle owner Dan Shepherd, and friend John Clement, a fly fishing beginner, in the morning. We hopped in Dan’s rig and pulled the boat south of Stevensville where we put in at Bell Crossing in the Bitterroot River. I spent the day fishing on top of the water while John fished mostly below the water with an indicator and nymphs. John had never caught a fish on his fly rod (even though we tried two evenings earlier) so Dan was determined to change that. And that’s exactly what happened.

We hadn’t been on the water 15 minutes when John pulled in a nice whitefish. In fact, by the time the day was done John caught more fish than I did (5 to 3). Even though the fish were not in a feeding frenzy all day, it was a great time. The temperatures were in the 50s with some nice cloud cover. The main bummer was gusty winds at times made it difficult to cast. Still, we had a blast. The fall yellows and oranges of the cottonwoods reflected off the waters leaving everything around us a colorful display.

For me, there were several highlights. The best part was just spending time with friends. (The three of us used to all be in the same church congregation together.) We had a good time and got good direction from Dan as he rowed up and down the river, indicating the best places to try to coax out some nice trout. It was fun watching John’s face light up as he pulled in fish. I did have some luck too. I caught my first fish, a 16 inch rainbow, after casting next to a log jam. Since I had polarized glasses, I actually watched it swim over a submerged log and strike my fly. It was a big lunker and took me a little while to get it reeled in.  



Showing off my 18' lunker Dan



Not long after that, I was casting left off the boat but then saw a fish rises about 20 feet ahead of the boat. I quickly spun and threw my fly right in its path. It surfaced just shy of my small fly and then struck at it. I hooked it immediately but then the fight was on. It seemed to remain in one place for at least 30 seconds.  There was no tugging. It was as if I’d snagged the bottom, but I knew it was a fish because I could see it parallel to the boat. After about a minute, it finally made a run so I let the line out so it wouldn’t snap me off. Dan was worried because the fish was well below the boat. I said “I want to jump out of the boat!” “Not yet!” Dan said. We entered a semi-swift portion of the river and he wanted to get us over to the edge. When he got a little closer I jumped out and got downstream until the fish was again just across from me. Finally, after a 4-5 minute fight, I finally coaxed it to the shoreline. Dan netted it and “Whoa,” there it was. It was big, thick, long and pretty. It turned out to be 18 inches long—the third largest fish I ever caught on a fly rod. We took several photos and carefully handled it in the net until it finally took off back into the Bitterroot. Fun stuff indeed!

I guess my other highlight was lunch. When we got ready to put the boat in, Dan asked John and me if we wanted a table and chairs for lunch. A table and chairs? We told him we’d rather just find a log or a bank to sit on. That’s exactly what we did. Dan pulled the boat over at about one o’clock. Then he got out a small grill and fried up three fat burgers for lunch. Add a couple of salads, chips, a pear and cookies and we were set. In just a matter of minutes, I went from being very hungry to very full. Now that’s how you do lunch on the river.

I only caught one more fish the rest of the day while John caught several more. All in all, what a great outing—great weather, great company, great food, a great guide and great results. Thanks again Dan and John.

Muni Backpacking

 

Jace, Hallie, Mark & our munis

It was Jace's idea.  "Dad, we should go muni backpacking sometime. Wouldn't that be cool?"  How do you argue with that kind of thrill-seeking, teenage logic? 

Muni (mountain unicycle) outings are nothing new for the one-wheeling Holyoak clan (Jace, Hallie and I), like this one last summer up Bass Creek in Montana's Bitterroot Valley.  Usually, we just mess around in the driveway in front of the house or ride down the steep hillside to Lolo School for some trick-riding.  Our most visual and well-known muni ride was a couple of summers back when Jace and I took the chair lift to the top of Snowbowl Ski Resort above Missoula and rode our munis to the bottom.  (Our friends at unicycle.com since posted it on their web site as a way to showcase Jace's Nimbus muni--see our video here.)



Have backpack, will pedal

But this time, we added a whole new element by backpacking in to a camp spot for an evening under the stars.  After I got home from work, we gathered up supplies, filled our backpacks, loaded up the munis and heading into the mountains.  

Jace & Hallie motoring through the mountains

The plan was to take a logging road and drive to the previously designated spot at about 8,000 feet or so in elevation in the Bitterrooot Mountains just below Lolo Peak (9,100 feet).  We'd actually drive to the camping spot, drop off a big cooler of water (because of high fire danger) and some camping chairs before backtracking to a parking spot back in the trees.  A hitch developed in our plan when we arrived only to find a couple of teenagers already there--dang kids!  So we continued to drive past our favorite,semi-secretive huckleberry picking location up the mountain. 

Luckily, it was only about another mile or so until we came to another great spot to camp--maybe even better than our first choice.  The downside was the road ended a short distance later.  So instead of a one mile uphill muni ride, we now had only a four-tenths of a mile downhill ride to the camp site.  We took some photos along the way, had some laughs, stopped and ate some huckleberries, and eventually rolled into the camp site.  I don't think thebackpacks made any difference at all for any of us.  We all just booked along as if we didn't have any extra weight on our backs.   

Hallie and I set up our tent and Jace found a couple of trees where he hung his hammock.  The gourmet dinner menu included hot dogs, Cheez-its, and apples.  We only made a small fire because of the dry conditions, but it was more than good enough to heat up dinner.  My favorite thing about camping is sitting around the fire and chatting.  We did that as the sun set and twinkling stars filled the sky.  The weather was perfect--high 80s when we started and temperatures in the upper 40s at night. 



Mmm, camp food!

  The new day brought a beautiful sunrise that none of us noticed at first because we were zonked.  When we did get up, it was already warm enough to be in short sleeves.  I hopped on my unicycle and rode up to the truck which I drove back to the camp site.  Then, as the kids slept, I hiked up the hill to pick a cup of huckleberries to go with our powdered doughnuts for breakfast.  We took some more pictures on the rocks high above an expansive scenic overlook.  Shortly after that, we loaded up the truck and headed for home.  I did find another trail I'd like to ride in the future that goes further up the mountain, but we'll save that muni outing for another time. 



We came...

   

...we saw...

  

...we conquered!