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

<title>You Still Here? Saturday, August 3, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

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You Still Here? Saturday, August 3, 2024

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Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

Wyoming Life

ELK MOUNTAIN — Margaret Karstoft’s grandfather came to America from Sweden in 1870. He spent three years earning the money needed to bring his family to Elk Mountain, where he worked as a tie hack.

Karstoft is among longtime Elk Mountain residents whose memories are now preserved in a new 30-minute legacy film commissioned by the Elk Mountain Museum. 

Created as an America250 project, the film distills hours of interviews into an oral history of the Carbon County town — from its tie hacks and sheep camps to its blizzards, dances, and stubborn will to survive. 

The museum has also retained the raw interviews as part of its archive, and given copies of the tapes to their families. 

Karstoft’s grandfather had a backbreaking, seasonal job. The men lived in tents, working through the winter on Elk Mountain, a place where the brutality of wind and cold are legendary among locals.

The men hewed their ties by hand, one timber at a time, then hauled them to the river, where they were floated downstream in the spring, after it had warmed up enough to melt the ice. 

“My grandmother wanted to come to this country because she heard that the streets were paved with gold,” Karstoft said in a soft voice. “She wanted to come here because it was hard times in Sweden at that time, too.”

In the film, old-timers tell of wind sometimes so harsh men had to crawl rather than walk, and blizzards where they had to trust their horse to get them home. But they also remember neighbors who banded together to help each other not only survive but thrive.

Tie hack camps in Carbon County shut down as large corporate ventures in 1912, but many people in Elk Mountain were still cutting railroad ties by hand into the 1950s. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Bob Johnson was one of them."}]

“It was before chainsaws or anything like that,” Johnson said. “We used a handsaw and an ax. I had a measuring stick and it was 102 inches long. That’s how long a railroad tie was back then. They had to be 102 inches. I cut a lot of those.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Bill Jones remembers peeling the bark off railroad ties."}]

“It froze on there in the wintertime,” he said with a chuckle. “That was a ‘good’ job.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Before Elk Mountain Was The Crossing"}]

Elk Mountain today has 144 people, according to the most recent census. It has always been a tiny town, however, even from inception. When it was incorporated in 1909, it recorded 98 residents in the 1910 census. 

Its peak population was recorded in 1980 at 338, on the coattails of a regional energy development boom in Carbon County that started in the late 1970s and continued into the early 1980s. 

Before it was incorporated, people had a different name for the area. It was just called “The Crossing.” It had been a convenient stop along the Overland Trail in the 1860s, with the nearby river offering reliable, year-round water. 

Fort Halleck was built just west of The Crossing in 1862 to protect emigrants, mail carriers and telegraph lines In the developing area.

Nearby Carbon, which incorporated in 1868, was much larger with a peak population of 1,140 in 1890. But its coal mines closed in 1902 — the same year a mercantile store opened at The Crossing, followed by the Mountain View Hotel in 1905. Both the hotel and the store remain standing. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Life In A Wind Tunnel"}]

Elk Mountain has always been a place where weather sets the rules — especially true in winter. 

“Up on that mountain, the wind can blow,” Shorty Richardson said. “Me and Pete Johnson, we went up on one ridge and we had to cross the top of that. I ain’t saying I was tough, but Pete Johnson, he was a horse, and we was on our hands and knees crossing that ridge, because we couldn’t stand up, the wind was blowing so hard.”

Powd Boles remembers his dad chaining a large sled to a telephone pole so it couldn’t blow away at night. 

“That’s how hard the wind blows down through there all the time,” he said.

One day Pete’s brother, Bill Johnson, noticed a fellow walking what locals refer to as the UL flats, looking for something. 

“He asked the guy, he says, ‘What’s the trouble?’ He says, ‘Well, I’m looking for the wheel for my anemometer. It blew off last night and I’m looking for it,’" Richardson said. "And Bill says, ‘Well, how hard was the wind blowing?’ He says, ‘Well, it registered 200 and then it died.’ So he said, ‘I don’t know how much harder it blew, but it did register 200.”

Richardson believes the wind blows so fast because it’s coming in down between mountains, forming a wind funnel. 

It’s not unlike pinching a garden hose, causing the water to flow out with more force, but in this case the “water” is the wind.

[{"type":"text","text":"Getting To The Dance On Time"}]

Neither wind nor cold stopped people from getting to town for dances, though, Powd Boles added. He remembers the time a fiddle player was snowed in upriver and couldn’t get to town for a dance.

“So Henry Cheesbrough, he had a Jeep, and he says, by God, he’d run up and get the fiddle player,” he said. “So he ground up there and got the fiddle player, and they were having a dance here in the Odd Fellows Hall. 

"Old Cheesbrough, he just drove through the front doors, drove right up to the bandstand, and dumped the fiddle player off.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Then he drove right back out the same doors he’d come in. "}]

“The next day he had to, by God, go to town and find new doors for the Odd Fellows Hall,” Boles said with a laugh.

Another time, Boles remembers that a couple who wanted to get to a dance couldn’t get anything to start but an old tractor.

“So they drove it all the way down from the UL down here to the dance,” he said. “That was in the middle of wintertime, and of course that tractor didn’t have no cab on it or nothing.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Winter Fun, Winter Peril"}]

Winter was a time for fun. There was ice-skating on the frozen pond and there was skiing behind neighborhood vehicles. It was safe enough then because there were no major highways. 

“You’d go up over where the roads are going into people’s ranches or meadows,” Bill Jones recalled. “You had to bounce over them a little bit when you ski. And then we’d have a whole line of sleds hooked together and somebody pulling us with their pickup around the streets. If you were the last one, sometimes you’d get snapped around.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Winter wasn’t all fun and games, though. "}]

“We used to follow the telephone line across this one spot we called UL Flat,” Bob Johnson said. “The horse knew the way, and I knew the way kind of, if you could see.”

In a blizzard, though, Johnson learned to listen for telephone wires overhead. 

“You could follow them to get home,” he said. “It used to take me 45 minutes to come down this direction and nearly two hours going back against the wind and the crosswind.”

Cheryl Bowen remembers her dad making her stand with her back toward the wind to avoid her face becoming frostbitten.

[{"type":"text","text":"She, like many children in that day, rode horseback to school."}]

“You couldn’t wear jeans to school, so I had to pack my dress,” she said. “And then I put my dress on to attend school.”

[{"type":"text","text":"When Sheep Ruled The Range"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Elk Mountain was sheep country when he was growing up, Boles said. "}]

“Everybody had sheep back in the old days,” he said. “Predators got too thick and they couldn’t find any help to herd them, so that was the end of sheep. But Carbon County was like the largest sheep-producing county in the United States at one time.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Johnson remembers living in a sheep wagon with his brother. "}]

“My mother would live down on the ranch a mile and a half away,” he said. “We’d have lanterns, and we’d have a stake in the ground. We’d light a lantern to keep the coyotes away.”

His mother would climb up on the cellar to see if the light was burning at their sheep camp. 

“If we had a light in our sheep wagon, it meant we were done flagging sheep and we were cooking supper,” Johnson said. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Boles’ family was among the first to bring Angus cattle to the area. "}]

“Everybody else had Hereford cattle,” he said. “And everybody thought they were stupid for raising black cattle. But when they’d ship in the fall, their calves always weighed over 400 pounds and everybody else’s weighed like 310 or something. So they were a step ahead of everybody else.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Making Do On The Ranch"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Families worked hard and knew how to stretch a dollar, Karstoft said. "}]

“We’d get flour in feed sacks,” she said. “My mom always tried to get a couple of them that would match, so she’d have enough material to make us clothes. That’s all we had were clothes made out of flour sacks. She did everything. She milked cows, fed chickens ...”

And she also cut the heads off those chickens herself whenever it was time to make dinner.

During times of war, women were also out in the field helping hay, Richardson added.

“There were no guys, they were all at war,” he said. “And you had to feed your livestock. It was a chore putting it up back then. Not like now. We’ll probably put up more hay in 15 minutes now than they used to put up in a day back then.”

[{"type":"text","text":"There also used to be many more little ranches, Boles added. "}]

“It’s 50, 60 head of cows,” he said. “Now all them little places are gone. The big outfits have bought them out, so all of them little places are history … when I was a kid, I suppose they delivered mail to probably 40 people out there. Now my wife runs the mail and she delivers mail to seven people.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Why They Stayed"}]

Many of the people who live in Elk Mountain today can trace their ancestry to the original homesteaders, and say they’ve never thought about leaving.

“I had chances to go elsewhere, and I always came back,” Jones said. 

“It’d be hard to leave, I guess, now,” Boles said. “I wouldn’t know how to act anyplace else.“

What Karstoft has always liked about Elk Mountain is the “small town” living. 

“Everybody knew each other, everybody helped each other,” she said. “Of course there was disagreements, too. There always are. But it was a beautiful place to settle.”

Richardson knows he could retire somewhere else — Florida, California, Arizona.

“I’m going to stay here,” he said. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, but anyway, I’ll be here till it’s done.”

Through the years, what Richardson has seen is there’s always just enough to keep the town going. 

“There will always be an Elk Mountain,” he said. “I’m sure of that.”

Thanks to the legacy film project, there will always be stories of the people who made it so, from the tie hacks and ranch families to the children on horseback and the neighbors who helped each other not only survive, but thrive.

Contact Renee Jean at renee@cowboystatedaily.com

Elk Mountain history Powd Boles 8 16 26

<title>Elk Mountain Old-Timers Keep Remote Town’s Wild History Alive One Story At A Time | Cowboy State Daily</title>

To preserve the town's legacy, old-timers in remote Elk Mountain, Wyoming, are sharing their tales for a film project. The blizzards were so bad, they say, you had to trust your horse to get home.

Elk Mountain Old-Timers Keep Remote Town’s Wild History Alive One Story At A Time

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Jackie Dorothy.

Jackie Dorothy

Around Wyoming

Editor's note: This story includes graphic and disturbing descriptions of torture and inhumane prisoner of war conditions. Read at your discretion. 

After more than 80 years, a 32-year-old Casper man believed to have been killed as a prisoner of war aboard one of the infamous Japanese “hell ships” during World War II may finally be close to being found. 

John Clarke Goldtrap, a young husband and father, was listed by his captors as one of the 284 Americans who died after the Japanese hell ship the Oryoku Maru was destroyed on Dec. 15, 1944.

The POW transport ship sunk to the bottom of the ocean and has remained there, virtually undisturbed, until now.

The Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA), working with the Navy and the Philippine government, are 

Divers have recovered American military footwear, an identification bracelet, broken eyeglasses, medical equipment and material that may be human bone. 

[{"type":"text","text":"The work is expected to continue in the coming year."}]

The DPAA said that the recovery effort has significant challenges that will require its team to employ advanced underwater recovery and identification techniques to ensure the mission is conducted with the utmost care and dignity.

Modern archaeology and DNA testing may then restore names to some of those remains, correct wartime records and allow families to bury men who have been listed officially as missing for nearly 82 years. 

For Goldtrap, it could finally reveal whether he died inside one the hell ship, in the water or after reaching shore. 

It is the fulfillment of the promise made to American servicemen that those missing in action will not be forgotten.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Sinking The Oroku Maru"}]

The air strike in which Goldtrap was killed is known as the Oroyku Maru Disaster because it was Allies who sunk the ship. 

Another Wyoming solider, Staff Sgt. Joseph Henry Robertson of Rock Springs, survived by swimming to shore and enduring another hellish eight months as a prisoner of war of the Japanese.

According to the Department of the Army, on Dec. 13, 1944, Japanese forces in the Philippines began the transfer of 1,621 Allied prisoners of war to Japan.

Goldtrap, Robertson and the other POWs were to make the journey aboard transport ships whose harsh conditions and extreme overcrowding led survivors to refer to them as “hell ships.” 

These ships lacked markings that would distinguish them from any other military target and were often attacked by Allied forces who could not identify them as POW transports.

On Dec. 14, 1944, Allied aircraft attacked the first of these transport ship, the Oryoku Maru, in Subic Bay in the Philippines, killing many of Allied POWs on board. 

War crimes were committed on that day as Japanese soldiers shot many of the escaping prisoners as they tried to swim to safety, while others drowned in the attempt.  

, the officer was listed as dead by his Japanese captors, but the information was unreliable since the first number of dead was listed as “about 250.”  

As a commanding officer, Goldtrap was confined in the ship’s rear hold, although it is unknown just how he met his death.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Worse Than Bataan Death March"}]

The stories shared by hell ship survivors paint a horrific picture of human brutality and suffering.

Ben Skardon was one of these men packed into the rear hold of the Oroku Maru where Goldtrap was believed to have been kept.

In a 2015 interview with the National World War II Museum, Skardon said that it was total chaos of the worst type as they were loaded into the hold.

He had found a spot pressed against another soldier on the floor, “one in the crotch of the other.” 

All around him, men were breaking down, going crazy, yelling and pleading. Skardon passed out from lack of oxygen and others helped move him to where he could get air.

Many of the men on the Oryoku Maru had survived the Bataan Death March and described the conditions crammed into the ship a living hell, worse than the infamous march.  

First-person accounts were preserved in the book “The Rising Sun” by John Toland from men who kept forbidden journals and recorded the hell they barely survived.

Major Virgil McCollum, wrote Toland, was a veteran of Bataan who said the hell ship was “the most horrible experience imaginable and probably unprecedented in the annals of civilization.” 

As the dim light of dawn filtered through the hatch, several score bodies lay lifeless — suffocated or murdered.

“Many men lost their minds,” a colonel later wrote in his official report, “and crawled about in the absolute darkness armed with knives, attempting to kill people in order to drink their blood or armed with canteens filled with urine and swinging them in the dark.”

Major Roy L. Bodine would have been in the same hold as Robertson, packed amidships, three decks down with 300 Army and Navy medics and civilians. 

He described the constant prayers and the chaos that quickly took over as men went mad from lack of water, oxygen and sanitation.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Waiting For Rescue Or Death"}]

Another American soldier, Lt. Col. Curtis Beecher, was in the forward hold which had just recently transported horses and had never been cleaned.

Within moments, the 700 men crammed into the hold were drenched in sweat and, already weak from two years of imprisonment, began to go mad.

A dozen men, crazed by thirst, went berserk; they slashed at the throats and wrists of companions to suck blood. The panic turned the hold into bedlam. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Men began to drop dead, some silently while others thrashed wildly."}]

When the bombing from the Allies began on the unmarked ship, many of the POWs on board cheered. Over the deafening roar of the attacks, men prayed and waited for rescue or death.

As the temperature reached 110 degrees, riots again erupted, according to Toland. 

Men collided with one another in the dark, slipping and falling in their own feces. The sick were trampled, and wild, deadly fights erupted. Men dropped to their knees like animals to lap up sewage running in open drains.

When the ship was sinking, men escaped the hull by jumping into the sea. Skardon described how a bomb killed many of the men in the rear hold with him while he crawled over their bodies to reach the deck.

“Those men saved my life,” Skardon said, explaining that they had taken the brunt of the bomb and he was able to escape. 

[{"type":"text","text":"Goldtrap was not so fortunate. "}]

He was either one of those killed in the rear hold by suffocation, murder or the bombing. Another possibility is that Goldtrap made it into the sea and was one of the 55 soldiers who were either shot for trying to escape or drowned.

His life that had been so promising in Wyoming had ended brutally with an estimated 21,000 other POWs lost in the hell ships.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A West Point Graduate And Proud Casperite"}]

As a teenager, Goldtrap enrolled in the Citizens’ Military Training Camp at Fort Russel and then served in the Wyoming National Guard before heading off to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.

Goldtrap had a promising military career ahead of him and often appeared with his wife, Caroline, in the social section of the Casper newspaper. They were also the proud parents of a little boy. 

Goldtrap served at Fort Francis E. Warren before heading off to Infantry School. 

On June 1940, the young officer sailed to the Philippine Islands and joined the 57th Infantry Regiment, the Philippines Scouts. His wife and son returned to live with her father in Casper to wait for Goldtrap's return home.

Then on May 7, 1942, Goldtrap was reported missing in action following the fall of Mindanao. 

He was subsequently confirmed as a Japanese prisoner of war and survived more than two and a half years in enemy hands. 

His wife received messages saying that he was well, and another serviceman saw him alive in June 1944.

Six months later, as the Japanese attempted to move him to Japan, Goldtrap was declared dead after the Oryoku Maru was sunk.

According to his personnel records, attacks on these POW transports ultimately resulted in a series of death notifications from the Japanese government through the International Red Cross, and some casualties were given up to five different dates of death at various locations during the transfer.

Witness accounts from surviving POWs offer detailed information for a handful of casualties, but the specific dates of loss or last-known locations for many of these POWs are based on the most recent reported date of death.

Although Goldtrap was reported to have died during the destruction of the Oryoku Maru on Dec. 15, 1944, no known eyewitness account has yet established precisely where or how he died, and his family was left wondering how he had met his fate.

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

Meanwhile, another Wyoming serviceman was aboard the Oroku Maru in a different hold. 

Robertson, a medic, had been a captive for two years when the Oryoku Maru was bombed. Although Robertson was able to swim to shore, his torture was not over.

The Army said that survivors of the bombing were put aboard two other hell ships, the Enoura Maru and the Brazil Maru, to continue on to Japan. 

While anchored in Takao Harbor in Formosa (present-day Taiwan), the Enoura Maru was attacked by Allied aircraft from the USS Hornet (CV 8). Survivors of the Enoura Maru bombing were loaded onto the Brazil Maru, which reached Japan on Jan. 30, 1945.

As a result of these incidents, many Allied POWs, such as Goldtrap, were lost at sea between the Philippines and Taiwan, while anchored in Taiwan, at sea between Taiwan and Japan, and in Japan.

When Robertson was finally freed two years later, he gave his sworn testimony at F.E. Warren. 

It was prepared for the War Crimes Office in connection with Japanese naval medical officer Satoru Nakazawa and conditions at Nichols Field, Las Piñas and Bilibid Prison.

During his war crime affidavit debriefing, Robertson said that he was placed on another hell ship after swimming to shore. 

He suffered in the cramped conditions for two months before reaching Japan, where he was tortured and nearly went blind from lack of food.

According to his obituary, Robertson had enlisted on Jan. 30, 1940, at Ft. Douglas, Utah. He was stationed in Bataan as a surgical technician with the Army medical detachment at General Hospital No. 1.

On April 10, 1942, he and companions made their way to Corregidor, where they stayed until it fell to the Japanese May 6, 1942. 

After capture, he was sent to Bilibed in Manila and then to Cabanatuan, a main Japanese prison camp, where he was held 58 days. 

He then was sent to Nichols Field camp and was there until 1944, when he was returned to Bilibed for treatment of his eyes, as his vision was impaired because of a lack of food.

Roberston returned home to his wife, Alice, in Rocks Springs where he worked for the next 22 years as an auto body shop operator. 

The couple had three sons — Joe, Vernon and Richard — when Robertson died unexpectedly after one day of being ill. He was 52 and proud of his service to the end.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Recovering Our Missing"}]

The Department of the Army lists Goldtrap’s case as an “active pursuit.”

Official records state “that Goldtrap was reportedly killed on Dec. 15, 1944, during the attack on the Oryoku Maru; however, these reports often involve information solely furnished by enemy governments.”

With so many unanswered questions of what happened to the young Casper officer and the other Americans declared dead on the Oroku Maru, the DPAA said it will continue to search for the missing servicemen. 

[{"type":"text","text":"The latest search effort is their largest to date on the Oroku Maru."}]

“This mission represents our solemn commitment to provide the fullest possible accounting to families and the nation,” said U.S. Army Capt. Barrett Breland, DPAA team leader for the Oryoku Maru recovery on their official website.

“We carry this responsibility with compassion and integrity, and our success depends on strong partnerships and unwavering respect for the fallen.”

For his service in the Philippines, Goldtrap received the Silver Star, Bronze Star and Purple Heart. He was also promoted posthumously from major to the rank of lieutenant colonel. The promotion was an honor but not a military decoration.

Goldtrap has a marker at Arlington Cemetery in Washington, D.C., and there is now the possibility Goldtrap may have more than just a memorial as searchers look for answers of what happened to the Americans who died on the hell ship Oryoku Maru.

Hell ship inset 1 8 16 26

<title>Wyoming POW On Sunken Japanese 'Hell Ship' May Be Close To Coming Home After 82 Years | Cowboy State Daily</title>

For 82 years, Lt. Col. John Clarke Goldtrap of Casper has been in a watery grave as a POW on the sunken wreck of the brutal Japanese “hell ship” Oryoku Maru. Now his remains may finally be ID'd and brought home. Another Wyoming serviceman on the ship survived.

Wyoming POW On Sunken Japanese 'Hell Ship' May Be Close To Coming Home After 82 Years

The old ash tree had stood for an estimated 60 to 70 years on the west side of the Washakie County Courthouse. It was 3 feet in circumference when, in 1999, a tree company declared the ash was dead and a hazard. 

[{"type":"text","text":"They were wrong."}]

When groundskeeper Heather Shryack discovered the stately ash had been healthy when it was cut down, she was determined it wouldn’t go to waste.

“She's a scrappy little gal, and she really knows her gardening,” said her husband, Terry Shryack. “Heather saw the whole tree was solid as a rock and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with it.”

The Washakie County Commission agreed that it was Heather’s tree and so she promptly hired an oil field company to haul it to her husband’s sawmill, despite protests from the tree company. Heather wasn’t going to be stopped in her mission to save the wood.  

“Everybody's upset when a big tree gets cut down here, without a doubt,” Terry said. “It was a treasure that we weren’t going to let get by.”

Over the years, Terry had made furniture out of the smaller pieces of the ash tree at his house in Winchester, including a rocking chair and small end tables. 

As the decades rolled by, he forgot about the large pieces of the ash tree he had stored in their shed — until he decided to build a table with local artist Calvin “Cal” Fulfer as an ultimate honor to the old ash tree.

The result is a 600-pound table with a river of treasure running through it.

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

Fulfer is an "old-school Deadhead" who spends his time in his workshop listening to the Grateful Dead and surrounded by repurposed art. 

Since retiring as a tile layer, he has dedicated the last decade to creating award-winning sculptures out of abandoned relics of the past. 

His walls are decorated with petroglyph fish made of old typewriter parts, Styrofoam Egyptian walls and computer circuit board bolo ties. Tiny snails made from old forks and marbles crawl across glass tabletops and a train sculpture runs its engine.

In the midst of this eclectic art, the giant ash table is set up in a corner and represents the largest art piece Fulfer has done to date. Fuller said it was based on a design from the Middle Ages.

“They call it a French trestle table,” Fulfer said. “They would send the servants out to put the table up for the banquet.”

The table can be disassembled into four sections by pulling out handmade dowel pins. A good thing, Fulfer said, considering the size. 

“Terry is a really accomplished woodworker and I'm more of a visual artist,” Fulfer explained. “It took him a year to build the table and me a year to build the top.”

This is the second table the duo built together. Two years ago, they built a table top out of Russian olive wood and Fulfer painted 101 goldfish as the accent. The table was for a fundraiser for Terry’s stepson, who had an emergency heart transplant. 

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

When an old ash tree was cut down by mistake at the Washakie County Courthouse in 1999, the groundskeeper rescued the wood. For nearly three decades, huge pieces of the ash sat forgotten until a Worland craftsman built a 600-pound table from it.

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