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Michael P. Ramirez

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Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>Daily Cartoon | Cowboy State Daily</title>

March 14, 2023

Kolby fedore

Kolby Fedore

Wyoming Life

Sports

Somewhere around mile 80, strange things start happening in the mountains. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Trees become people."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Shadows turn into horses."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Voices seem to drift through the darkness."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"One runner spent miles convinced mice were scurrying across her feet."}]

Another knows that if he's awake long enough, he'll start hearing conversations that aren't really there.

That's before the stomach problems, swollen feet and the little voice that starts begging runners to quit.

This weekend, hundreds of runners descended on Sheridan for the annual Bighorn Trail Run, one of the West's most respected ultramarathons. 

Some tackle 18 miles. Others run 32 or 52. A smaller group attempts the full 100-mile course — a physical and mental journey that keeps many of them moving through Wyoming's backcountry for more than 24 hours.

For people who have never run farther than a half or even full marathon — or perhaps never wanted to — the obvious question for these ultrarunners remains: 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Drive"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Ask 40-year-old Daniel Orr and he'll tell you every runner has one."}]

The Wyoming native grew up in Cody and Powell before eventually settling in Maine, where he now works as a freelance photojournalist for The Wall Street Journal.

This year, he returned to the West to take on the Bighorn 100, an ultrarunning event that starts near Dayton in northern Wyoming and travels over the Bighorn mountains. It’s considered one of the most challenging ultramarathons in the United States.

Orr's answer to why anyone would want to run extreme distances in extreme conditions isn't about competition.

[{"type":"text","text":"It's about grief."}]

"A lot of it is dealing with childhood stuff," Orr said. "I lost my mom in 2023, and that was a huge jump start to me seeking out endurance sports."

The races, he said, provided something unexpected for such an individual sport: community. Spending a day and a night suffering alongside strangers has a way of creating connections.

"This isn't my story, but there's a lot of people who come from addiction recovery and stuff," Orr said. "The community aspect is a really unexpected but very tangible thing you find in these races."

[{"type":"text","text":"For Anne Hinman, the answer is different."}]

A former University of Wyoming soccer player who now works as a marketing director and recently moved from Wyoming to Montana, Hinman ran her first ultramarathon at Bighorn in 2021. She's now completed the race five times.

[{"type":"text","text":"Her motivation is overcoming fear."}]

Hinman describes herself as naturally cautious and anxious. Moving to Wyoming forced her outside her comfort zone.

"There are moose and bear in Wyoming," she said with a laugh. "I was so afraid. So, the only reason I'm able to do what I do is because I push past my fear."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Digestive Mutiny"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Running 100 miles requires a shocking amount of fuel."}]

Forget energy bars. Ultrarunners often survive on all the things that would raise a mother's eyebrows.

Hinman's race menu includes Nerds Gummy Clusters, Rice Krispies Treats, potato chips and liquid sugar.

"Pretty much any junk food that you can think of is something that someone would eat during ultramarathons," she said.

[{"type":"text","text":"Orr has his own nutritional strategy."}]

The goal is consuming at least 80 grams of carbohydrates every hour while taking in fluids consistently throughout the race.

[{"type":"text","text":"At aid stations, however, dignity often disappears."}]

"You'll mix quesadilla with some Sour Patch Kids or something," Orr said. "Just kind of muscle through it."

The digestive system doesn't always cooperate. Both runners described stomach issues as one of the most common challenges in ultrarunning.

Another offered perhaps the most concise summary of the sport ever recorded: "Never trust a fart."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Hallucinations"}]

The strangest part of ultrarunning often arrives after dark. By then, runners have been awake for nearly a full day.

They're exhausted, alone and deep in the mountains. Sleep deprivation begins to distort reality.

[{"type":"text","text":"For Orr, the hallucinations are subtle."}]

"You'll think you're seeing a human figure, or hearing voices," he said.

[{"type":"text","text":"For Hinman, they're harder to ignore."}]

During one nighttime section of a race, she became convinced mice were running across the trail and over her feet for nearly two miles.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"All of the trees became people,\" she said. \"Or horses.\""}]

Orr says the experience of how your mind deals with those ultimate challenges can be unsettling at first.

When he completed an overnight crossing of California's Joshua Tree National Park, he said the isolation became overwhelming.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"It's truly terrifying when you realize how alone you are,\" he said."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Eventually, however, something changes."}]

"The mind just kind of accepts it after a while," Orr said. "And it's really quite peaceful after that acceptance."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Voice"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"At some point, every ultrarunner hears a voice that says “stop.\""}]

It’s the voice that says you've gone far enough and starts pointing out the absurdity of voluntarily running 100 miles through the mountains.

[{"type":"text","text":"Hinman hears it every race."}]

"Please stop," she remembers the voice telling her. "This is dumb. You shouldn't be out here."

Her solution is simple — make it to the next aid station, then reassess.

[{"type":"text","text":"Nine times out of 10, she keeps going."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"The physical pain, though, is impossible to avoid."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"\"Every step hurts,\" she said."}]

Orr broke a toe during a 47-mile Grand Canyon effort and severely damaged a hamstring tendon during his first 100-mile race. He finished anyway.

[{"type":"text","text":"That's part of the bargain, he said."}]

"It's not a matter of if," Orr said of injuries. "It's a matter of when."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Finish Line"}]

Despite the image of solitary runners disappearing into the wilderness, ultrarunning is rarely a solo effort.

Orr's girlfriend flew from Maine to crew for him while studying for her nurse practitioner certification exam. His brother drove from Powell to help at later aid stations. A pacer he'd never met before joined him for the final 32 miles.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"It's a good way to get to know somebody,\" Orr joked."}]

For many runners, the support crew becomes just as important as the training. They hand over fresh shoes, refill water bottles, offer encouragement and, when things get dark, help convince exhausted runners to keep moving.

[{"type":"text","text":"Eventually, a 100-mile race stops being about running."}]

It becomes a test of what a person can endure through a sleepless night in remote terrain — through aching muscles, stomach troubles, phantom voices and trees that suddenly look like people.

[{"type":"text","text":"For reasons even many runners struggle to explain, they keep coming back."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"One painful step at a time."}]

Bighorn 100 rsw 2560 9 6 21 26

<title>When Trees Become People: The Strange Reality Of Running 100 Miles In Wyoming | Cowboy State Daily</title>

This weekend, runners descended on Sheridan for one of the West's most respected ultramarathons. They'll tell you the 100-mile race is a test of what a person can endure: aching muscles, phantom voices and trees that suddenly look like people.

When Trees Become People: The Strange Reality Of Running 100 Miles In Wyoming

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Jackie Dorothy.

Jackie Dorothy

Around Wyoming

Wyoming's oil boom in the late 1800s quickly became a frontier land war as former gunmen, prospectors and even nobles from Europe converged on the Salt Creek and Teapot Dome oil fields near Casper.

The cowboys of the Hole-in-the-Wall area were just learning their outlaw trade when the first oil claim had been made in the Salt Creek oil field. 

In the fall of 1889, an oil baron from Pennsylvania, Mark Shannon, known to his associates as a successful wildcatter, producer and promoter, saw the possibilities in the land that the cattle barons had scorned. 

Shannon had started secretly drilling the first well the year the Johnson County War was first erupting. 

While the cattlemen saw nothing in the sparse grasslands, alkali creeks and oil film on the soda lakes, Shannon saw a fortune to be made in oil, according to Ed Bille who grew up in the oil fields during the 1920s Teapot Dome Scandal. 

Bille documented these early days of lawlessness in his 1978 book, “Early Days at Salt Creek and Teapot Dome.”

“When the well came in, the derrick was fenced and guarded and an air of secrecy hung over the project for a few months,” Bille wrote. “The reason given was that Shannon wanted to be sure of a clear title to the land.”

In the days before the automobile became commonplace, Shannon hauled his oil to Casper by wagons using 12 to 18 horses. 

The string teams would then return with a load of supplies while people wondered out loud what this oil was even good for. Hundreds of barrels of the black gold went unused for those first decades, and newspapers lamented the waste. 

In the meantime, there was plenty of scandal associated with those early days of the Teapot Dome and Salt Creek oil fields before the oil hit the fan in the 1920s.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Wildcatting"}]

Early day wildcatters were prospectors who took a string of tools and drilled for oil in places it was not known to exist. 

Bille said they came from all walks of life, including ranchers, doctors, lawyers and merchants. 

Those flocking to this new oil boom were also promoters, “fast-buck artists” and former outlaws, such as Butch Cassidy’s best friend Elzy Lay, who made his own claims in Wyoming oil fields after getting out of prison. 

Oil industry historian James A. Clark said that the wildcatter had to be gambler, trader and entrepreneur

“He had a lot of things the old gold miner had,” Clark said. “Many died poor, but a few hit it big.”

These oil pioneers quickly moved into the oil fields located at the southwest edge of the Powder River Basin.

“Land titles were often vague, unstable, and insecure, and claim jumping was a fact of life in the Salt Creek Field from its beginning until the Leasing Act became law in 1920,” Bille wrote.

A location notice filed in the county records would supposedly hold the land for a year. Oil prospectors had to dig or drill a hole in what was called “validating the claim.” Sometimes, three men operating a spring pole outfit could put down three or four validating holes in a day.

Havoc reigned in the oil field as men argued who had the right to the land. 

Confrontations, threats, and violence were common during these early years. 

Often, these arguments were settled by the one who had the quickest draw and was best at handling his gun.

This alkali land, forsaken by stockmen, was soon eyed by nobility of the old world, according to Bille. 

Promoters had brought Wyoming oil to national and international attention by the early 1900s, and a large number of European investors were attracted by the growing realization of oil potential in the Salt Creek area. European  barons and princes began to invest in the development.

At the end of 1903, Shannon sold his entire Wyoming properties — refinery, wells, placer claims — for $350,000 to a group of Europeans. That would be about $13.2 million today.

This set off a fierce rivalry that was fought from 1905-1910 between the Holland-owned “Wyoming Syndicate” and local investors.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Hired Guns"}]

Land titles in Salt Creek and Teapot Dome were confusing and unsecured, so many wildcatters and oil companies hired gunmen, known as line riders, to protect their claims.

“Line riders were men of nerve, and they put up a fight for their companies equal to the fights on the range made in the earlier days by the cowboys for what they considered their rights,” wrote Harold Roberts in his book “Salt Creek.”

 in 1910-1920 only slightly deviated from a decade before when differences were frequently settled with .45-caliber revolvers and Winchester rifles. 

During these early gold rush days in Wyoming, it was not uncommon for owners and claim jumpers to mysteriously vanish.

Bille said that reputations had been built during that outlaw time. Oil field claimants were thus more likely to back down in the face of a gun held by someone who was known to have used it in the recent past against horse rustlers.

Early cowboys and gunmen, such as William “Missou” Hines, were hired and well-known for quickness and accuracy with a gun. Hines, who became a line rider in the 1910s, was an example of what the lawless Wyoming oil fields had become.

Dan Adamson, a cattleman from Nebraska, wrote in the Jan. 1, 1934, Omaha Daily Journal/Stockman that Missou was known to whip out his gun and shoot at even his friends for sport. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Adamson said that became known as a “Missou joke.\""}]

When the town of Casper was still young, Missou was riding down the street with his fellow cowhand, Texan Charley "Red River" Stuart. 

Adamson said that Missou pointed out that Red River was riding a horse with a reputation as a hard bucker and asked if Red River could really ride such a horse.

[{"type":"text","text":"“You bet your life; every jump in the road!\" Red River responded."}]

Missou promptly whipped out his gun and shot under the horse's nose. The old bucker went after Red River in earnest and threw him off in the street.

Another time, Adamson said a magician was performing in Casper and claimed that he could catch a bullet shot from a pistol in his mouth.

“Of course this was hooey as his partner in the audience was supposed to do the shooting, changing to a blank cartridge,” Adamson said.

Just as the head performer got through with his explanation, Missou got his gun out and hollered, "Are you ready?"

“The fellow took one look at Missou and bolted for the door, but Missou punctured his coat tail as he went out,” Adamson said.

Missou was first hired to guard the oil fields by engineer William Fitzhugh, described as a fiery tempered, capable, energetic person who could be both generous and very difficult to deal with. 

Fitzhugh hired Missou to keep trespassers off the field and discourage the jumping of his claims by others, Bille wrote.

Fitzhugh also took the fight to the courts because he openly had plans to “jump” every claim in the field and take the entire Salt Creek area. 

He believed that the titles which others had were no good and promptly filed on all of it and started drilling wells to acquire title. He clashed with representatives of the Dutch properties, The Midwest Co., and others.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Evicting Squatters"}]

Since much of the land in the Salt Creek area was public domain, homesteaders could settle the area as “mineral claims” or “desert claims.” They just had to do a certain amount of assessment work to get a patent to the land.

With the new developments, and new strikes in different sands, much of the alkali flats became valuable oil land. Squatters subsequently settled on some of that land in an effort to lay claim to it.

“Many of these squatters, attempting to establish holdings in the oil fields, were attacked and beaten,” Bille wrote. “In some cases, contestants moved in with teams of four and six horses, and plenty of strong-arm help, and moved the squatters’ shacks.”

While there was the threat of serious trouble hanging in the air, most of these eviction events occurred without major incident. In fact, as the horses dragged away the shacks, large crowds would gather to watch.  

Eventually, the oil field was mostly under the domain of Midwest, which had won the right to most of the land in Salt Creek and Teapot Dome through strong armed tactics.

However, even as Missou and other hired guns began hauling freight instead of flashing their rifles, trouble of another kind was ahead for the infamous fields of Salt Creek and Teapot Dome.

Corrupt politicians had also seen the potential of the oil-rich area as oil became more in demand. The fight for control of the Salt Creek and Teapot Dome oil fields soon drew the attention of the world. 

However, those who once patrolled the oil fields knew that the 

was not the beginning, but only the continuation of a fight that had been going on for decades in the lawless land of Wyoming. 

Teapot Rock inset Getty 6 21 26

<title>Teapot Dome Oil Fields Were Plenty Scandalous Before Historic Scandal Of 1920s | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Years before armed Marines invaded Wyoming and a cabinet secretaries went to prison for the Teapot Dome scandal of the 1920s, those same oil fields were already plenty scandalous. Arguments over land were often settled by whoever had the quickest draw.

Teapot Dome Oil Fields Were Plenty Scandalous Before Historic Scandal Of 1920s

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Dale Killingbeck

Dale Killingbeck

He drove a public bus in Casper in the 1920s and also took the wheel of trucks hauling contraband booze.

By the 1930s his two-bit criminal history in central Wyoming morphed into big-time felonies that made front-page headlines. 

In 1936, Harry Campbell hit the FBI’s most-wanted list as “public enemy No. 2” just behind his friend and partner in crime Alvin Karpis, the leader of the Karpis-Barker gang.

Campbell’s crime career ended with a life sentence at Alcatraz for his role in the kidnapping of a Minnesota brewery heir in 1934. 

But before he arrived at “The Rock” he, with Karpis, successfully escaped an FBI arrest in a hail of machine-gun bullets.

When the FBI finally put Campbell in cuffs for his role in the kidnapping, the raid was led by storied Director J. Edgar Hoover. 

The Casper Tribune-Herald reminded every one of Campbell’s ties to the region.

“Former Casper Man Seized In Toledo Today,” the paper reported on May 7, 1938. “Companion of Karpis Once Drove Bus to Evansville.”

Harry Campbell began life as a New Year’s baby in a new century, on Jan. 1, 1900, in McClintocksville, Pennsylvania. 

He was the fifth of seven children born to George and Melissa Campbell. By the second decade of his life, his family moved to Oklahoma, and it was in Tulsa where his bad seeds were initially sown.

FBI documents on the Barker gang state that Campbell grew up knowing the infamous brood and their mother, Kate “Ma” Barker.

“Many of the sons of Kate Barker became associates of these boys in their later lives,” states the file dated Nov. 19, 1936. “Harry Campbell and Volney Davis matured and grew up with the sons of Kate Barker, and in later years they collectively engaged in lives of crime.”

The file states that Campbell became a prominent member of the gang.

Reflecting on Campbell’s life of crime, The Tulsa World reported on May 8, 1936, that he was first arrested for vagrancy in the city on Dec. 25, 1920, and again on June 11, 1921, for bank robbery. 

He was sent to prison, but a few months later was acquitted and released.

Within the next two years, Campbell moved to the Casper region, first working the Salt Creek oil fields and then from 1923-1924 driving a bus between Casper and Evansville.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Transporting Booze"}]

The Casper Tribune-Herald reported on May 7, 1936, about how Campbell’s wayward nature continued to find opportunities in his new state.

“He gained a livelihood, police recall, from hauling truckloads of contraband liquor. Those were prohibition days, and on several occasions he ran afoul of the law because of his rum-running activities,” the newspaper reported. “He was arrested by Detective Miller in 1924 on a possession of whiskey charge.” 

But Campbell’s criminal ways meant he was never long in one region.

In August 1932, Campbell and Fred Barker were being sought for the murder J. Earl Smith, a Tulsa lawyer who had represented both men. 

Smith had told his wife that he was going to meet men to receive some money for his services. 

Campbell made the appointment to see Smith and had a dispute with the attorney about charges for his representation on a burglary charge. 

Smith’s body and bullet-riddled car were found outside Tulsa.

In August 1933, Campbell was sought in Oklahoma along with two others for the May 11 murder of a truck driver who tried to stop a safe robbery at a trucking firm.

In September 1933, FBI files state that Campbell was recruited by the Barker gang to St. Paul, Minnesota, and he brought along his second wife, Wynona Burdette, from Oklahoma. 

From Minnesota, the gang drove to Reno, Nevada, to meet with others, gamble and drink.

By late December they returned to Minnesota, and late in the month decided to kidnap Edward George Bremer, a St. Paul bank president and son of the owner of the Schmidt beer brewery. 

The plan was tentatively called off after two members left a kidnap planning session and shot and wounded a Northwest Airways employee who was wearing a uniform and mistaken for a cop.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Kidnapping"}]

By Jan. 17, 1934, plans were back on, and Campbell and Karpis were among five gang members watching for Bremer to drop off his daughter at school. 

When his car pulled up at a stop sign a half-block away after depositing her, a gang member stepped up to Bremer’s door with a gun, told him to move over.

Asecond gang member opened the right-side door, struck him in the head several times and shoved him on the floor, FBI files state.

Bremer’s car, followed by the remaining kidnappers, took off. Hoover later claimed it was Karpis and Campbell who initially grabbed him.

The kidnapping resulted in a $200,000 ransom payment with the serial numbers of the cash recorded by the FBI and later shared with banks across the country.

In its 1936 story, The Casper Herald-Tribune reported that Campbell and Karpis had visited Casper two years earlier in summer 1934 as the heat from law enforcement for the kidnapping made life harder elsewhere in the country.

The newspaper recounted how Campbell was seated at an “inconspicuous table” in a Casper night club and enjoying a drink and music trying to avoid attention. 

A former girlfriend reportedly walked up, called him by name and asked, “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Campbell exchanged pleasantries and quickly disappeared from the club, the newspaper reported.

“The ensuing hunt for him revealed he had a companion and that the companion was Alvin Karpis,” the newspaper reported.

After the kidnapping and subsequent manhunt, the Casper paper noted that local law enforcement had been watchful for any appearance of Campbell in the region.

“Vigilance had been especially keen in recent weeks as the dragnet closed in on him and Karpis,” the newspaper reported.

When Fred Barker and Kate Barker were killed in a shootout with the FBI in January 1935, Campbell and Karpis were tracked to a hotel in Atlantic City. 

Campbell’s wife had been released by Oklahoma authorities with a promise from her brother that she would lead authorities to Campbell.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Shootout"}]

According to news reports, Campbell’s wife Burdette, aka Louise Campbell, and Karpis’ girlfriend traveled from Florida to join them. 

Some news reports state they tipped off authorities as to who was in the room next door.

When federal agents surrounded the motel room and banged on the door, news stories declared that Karpis sent a stream of bullets through it. 

Then Karpis, wearing trousers, slippers and overcoat, and Campbell with a pistol in his underwear, ran out the door as police returned fire. 

The pair stole a car and then engaged in a running gun battle with police as they gave chase.

“The bandits jumped into a coupe owned by Mrs. Harold Brand, and with Karpis lying on the running board and pumping shots from his machine gun, they drove out Kentucky Avenue,” the Press of Atlantic City reported on Jan. 21, 1935. 

A former Casper oil worker and bus driver in the 1920s careened into a life of crime with the infamous Karpis-Barker gang that included murders, kidnappings, and robberies. He was the FBI's No. 2 most-wanted before being caught and sent to Alcatraz.

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