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[{"type":"text","text":"As we all know, eating lunch with a cow is not easy...."}]

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

<title>You Still Here? Friday, November 15, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

As we all know, eating lunch with a cow is not easy....

You Still Here? Friday, November 15, 2024

 As we all know, eating lunch with a cow is not easy....

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

Renée Jean

Wyoming Life

Terlingua is a ghost town in Texas where the world’s chili champions are made. But many of those Terlingua International Chili champions say their favorite chili stage isn’t in the Texas desert at all. 

It’s in the tiny town of Chugwater, population 175, where even the best of the best are willing to drive a thousand miles or more on a chili pilgrimage that’s been going strong for decades, raising money for local nonprofits and quietly serving as one of Wyoming’s biggest, word-of-mouth tourism wins. 

Many contestants pair their chili fest trip with subsequent Yellowstone and Devils Tower adventures.

This Father’s Day weekend marked the 40th annual Chugwater Chili Cook-off, which annually turns the tiny high plains town into a blow-out chili fest for a single day. 

Other chili competitions “just don’t have the audience participation like you do here, where everyone comes and tastes your chili,” 2015 Terlingua winner James Burns told Cowboy State Daily. “This is one of the few where that happens and it’s just amazing. 

They’ve set themselves apart from all the other chili championships.”

It was a 15-hour drive for Burns, one that he made over two days. Burns’ first Chugwater Chili Cook-off was in 2016, fresh off his 2015 Terlingua win. 

No one, he added, was ever a less-likely chili champion.

“At the time, I had this band,” he said with a chuckle. “And the lady who promoted us and did our shirts and everything said, ‘I’ve got a chili cook-off coming up with the VFW, and I want you to cook for it'.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Started Online"}]

Burns told her he had no idea how to cook chili for dinner, much less for a competition. However, she insisted, and he needed her to keep doing the band’s marketing.

“So, I went out and I bought all this stuff,” Burns said. “And it was all the wrong stuff. I bought, like, a cast-iron pan, which you don’t need.”

He quickly realized he was in way over his head when it came to chili competitions. Eventually, he asked her if a website or something could help guide him. 

“So that’s how I got started,” he said. “I went to that website and found out what to really use.”

Even then, he still faced a steep learning curve. From March to June, he cooked at all kinds of chili contests and never scored a single point. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Finally, it all just came together. "}]

“The first point I got, I went straight to first place,” he said.

That took him to Terlingua, which he also won. He has been winning chili competitions ever since. 

This year, a decade after his first Chugwater Chili experience, he was back. Not for himself, however. He had chili champion friends who had yet to experience the tiny town’s event.

“I tell everyone you’ve got to go here,” he said. “It’s just so amazing. It’s a bucket-list item. All the chili cooks have got this on their bucket list. 

“Things happen, they can’t get here all the time,” he added. “But this year, we’ve got between 20 and 25 people who came up here from Texas.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Big Chili Explosion"}]

Burns isn’t exaggerating when it comes to the scale of Chugwater’s giant-sized Chili Cook-off in Staat’s Park. 

The town might be tiny, but its cook-off explodes its population from 175 to thousands for a single day, raising money that helps support many of the town’s nonprofits all year. The event has raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to support its fire department, historical group, economic development and school organizations such as FFA and FBLA.

Cars will line the streets leading into Chugwater and fill up all the side streets. Business parking lots quickly swell with cars, too, as well as dusty fields where no one would normally park.

The C.H. Brown family donates time and teams for free wagon rides to and from the cook-off, lending a little charm to what would otherwise be a lengthy trek on foot from these repurposed fields to the park where contestants from all over the world gather to vie for one of three top spots in the red chili competition. That is not just for bragging rights. It’s also an automatic invitation to Terlingua.

“The public here is just phenomenal,” 2019 Terlingua winner Kathryn Williams of Texas told Cowboy State Daily. “If you look at the population sign of Chugwater, it says 175, but in the first 33 minutes, we had given away 200 tasting cups of chili, so there’s obviously more than just the population of Chugwater here. The support is just unbelievable.”

Williams paired her first trip to Chugwater with a tour of Yellowstone once the competition is over, after which she’ll be in Colorado for a competition as well. She planned everything a year in advance. 

“If you’re from the Gulf Coast of Texas and you’re not used to the cold, and you’ve never seen a mountain, you’ve never seen snow — this was just an opportunity for us to come see a different landscape,” she said. “It’s also a chance to meet different people and see if Texas-style chili works in Wyoming.”

She’s not alone. Many other visiting teams also told Cowboy State Daily they pair this weekend with a larger Western road trip that will include other bucket-list stops such as Yellowstone, Devil’s Tower, Deadwood, and many other places.

For veteran competitor Jerry Arnold, who lives in Nebraska but is originally from Torrington, the Chugwater Chili Cook-off is much more than just a cooking competition. For him, it is a big family group hug, built around chili pots and pans. 

Arnold's wife, daughter-in-law, son, daughter and her children have all joined the chili fold. They come together over chili contests like other families gather for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Arnold won his first chili contest in 1999. 

“They had a pokerfest,” he recalled. “I and my wife went over there — I wasn’t married yet — but I won, which really surprised me. I thought, ‘Wow!’ And so I went to Crawford (Nebraska) and won again. I was like, ‘Are you kidding me? I’m gonna go to Scotts Bluff and win, I’m gonna go to the nationals and I’ll be famous'.”

Arnold has been invited to Terlingua a half-dozen times or so with his family members, who cook under the name Prairie Fire Chili. So far, they have not clinched a world title, though they have frequently placed in regional qualifiers, including the Chugwater Cook-off.

“There’s a lot of competition here,” Arnold said. “If you place in the top 10 here, you’re doing really well. My daughter-in-law, she got second in green.”

Arnold’s only complaint about Chugwater is that he never gets a chance to try the other competitors’ chili. He’s frequently next to a guy who has won Chugwater multiple times and has always “wanted to go over there and try his chili,” but he’s always too busy serving his own.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Cooking For The Crowd"}]

While some of the contestants are laser-focused on winning their shot at Terlingua, others come to win the crowd.

Count Cheyenne construction worker Casey Medina among those. He’s earned the People’s Choice honor multiple times, and he, too, sees the event as a big family tradition. 

His recipe is built around pork and Anaheim chilis, slow-cooked with onions, garlic and tomatoes. His secret weapon is just letting all the natural flavors shine through. 

“No secret seasonings,” he told Cowboy State Daily. “No added ingredients really.” 

Just a little salt to help bring it all together.

The recipe might seem modest, but the quantities of the natural ingredients are anything but. Medina estimates he cooks 35 gallons of chili in his quest to win the People’s Choice award, and he will start a week in advance, cutting the meat, roasting peppers, and getting all the prep work done. 

The final cook takes an additional three hours on site. 

It’s a big effort for one weekend, but it’s worth it for this crowd, he said, waving a hand at all the people milling about, enthusiastically trying the different chili recipes.

“This is just a good time as a family,” Medina added. “It’s just something to show off that we do have a good recipe. It’s something to do, and it’s a great event. I wish more people would come up.”

For Cheyenne caterer Amy Kennison, the Chugwater Chili Cook-off was meant to be a one-off competition in 2024, a way to get out and meet new people and promote her Wyoming catering business. 

June, typically, is abusy month for her, as it’s wedding season. But, as it happened, in 2024, her schedule was a bit light. She’d heard of the Chugwater Chili Cook-off for decades, but had just never had the opportunity before then to enter it.

“We never had any thought that we were going to actually win,” she said. “We were just hoping to maybe place, and thought it would be fun.”

In fact, they were pretty sure they weren’t going to win — given the kind of competition that was at the event, which included many of the world’s top chili champions.

As the winners were announced, name after name rolled out belonging to other teams. Kennison and her family were actually packing up to leave when they suddenly heard their name called. Their chili, made from Wyoming-grown beef, pork and deer they raise and hunt themselves, had won first place in the red chili category.

That meant an automatic invite to Terlingua, which they decided to do as a family. 

It was an “interesting” experience, Kennison said — and not one she wants to repeat.

“This cook-off is way better,” she said of Chugwater’s festival. “At Terlingua, people don’t come to your booth to sample your chili like they do here.

“And the tasting was at noon,” she added. “But they opened the beer garden at 8 a.m., so everyone couldn’t walk or talk by 10 a.m.”

The excessive drinking by some contestants and other guests created a decidedly non-family-like atmosphere, which Kennison and her family didn’t embrace. 

“It was very weird,” she said. “You just came, and everyone made a little pot of chili like this in their trailer and filled a cup and delivered it up to the judges. That was it.

“It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t kid-friendly at all, and I don’t think we’ll ever go back. It was also kind of vulgar — like Burning Man for chili.”

Terlingua might be the sport’s most prestigious title, but for Kennison and many other competitors, Chugwater offers something they value even more — a family-friendly place where their kids feel welcome and a tiny town turns into a chili mecca.

For first-time Chugwater Chili Cook-off guest Kimberly Doshier, who grew up near Sacramento, California, and now lives in Cheyenne, Chugwater felt a lot bigger than she expected for a town of 175.

She’d figured it would be something pretty scaled back. Until, that is, she drove into the car-lined streets and found herself at what felt like a “really big farmers market” with tent after tent of cooks and vendors, live music, and families lining up to taste.

“Being from California originally, I’m kind of used to a giant farmers market,” she said. “So this kind of reminds me of that a little bit.”

Her nose had been “going crazy” since she’d arrived, overwhelmed by the mix of spices, smoke, and grilled foods that were scenting the air. 

“The word ‘disappointment’ does not come to mind when it comes to this event,” she said with a big smile. “It’s been a blast. This is definitely what a community coming together really is.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Father’s Day Plan"}]

Forty years ago, it might have been difficult to imagine that a chili cook-off in a tiny Wyoming town would become a pilgrimage for Terlingua world champions, with caravans of Texans, Floridans, Nebraskans, and others planning their entire Father’s Day weekend around it. 

But that’s exactly what the Chugwater event has become. Gallons and gallons of chili flow throughout the day from huge over-sized pots into tiny sample cups that are then tasted by tongues tingling with all the chili flavor they can stand. 

For Burns and other Terlingua champions or hopefuls who have made this trek, Chugwater’s event is counted among the best of the best for its fun and its atmosphere.

And it’s given Wyoming families a chance to try the world’s best chilis in one special location on one special day each year — a Wyoming Father’s Day to remember. 

Chugwater chili 20260620 142313 6 22 26

<title>Why World Chili Champions Come To Tiny Chugwater For Its Annual Chili Fest | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Terlingua, Texas, crowns the world’s chili champions, but many say their favorite contest is in Chugwater, Wyoming. For 40 years, the Chugwater Chili Cook-off has been a Father's Day bucket-list contest for the best chili cooks on the planet.

Why World Chili Champions Come To Tiny Chugwater For Its Annual Chili Fest

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's Feature Reporter, Andrew Rossi.

Andrew Rossi

Outdoors

Public Lands

Almost a week after a semitruck carrying 

 flipped over in Yellowstone National Park and destroyed hundreds of hives, bees are still swarming around the area.

Thousands of bees are still homeless and visibly trying to survive in large groups on “bee trees” along U.S. Highway 191. 

Jim Holstein with Yellowstone Tour Guides has been passing through the area where the accident occurred. He took a photograph of one of the bee trees, where thousands of bees had completely covered a small lodgepole in a vast, buzzing swarm.

“They were still there on Monday,” Holstein told Cowboy State Daily. “It’s in the park between Big Sky and West Yellowstone. All the hives have been cleaned up, but there are quite a few bees left.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Bee Trees"}]

Cheyenne beekeeper Michael Jordan is familiar with bee trees. They’re an indication that a colony of bees is actively house-hunting.

“It’s what's called a swarming mechanism,” he said. “The queen leaves and takes about half or more of the colony and moves to a new safe location.”

Jordan said this is common behavior for honeybees when a hive gets overpopulated. The existing queen will take nurse bees and guard bees to sustain herself in a temporary location while scouts search for a permanent 

“The scouts will search until they find a permanent location,” he said. “In the meantime, you'll have groups and colonies hanging in the trees as they regroup.”

A new permanent home could be a hole in a tree, a cave, or “anywhere that’s out of the water and elements,” said Jordan. 

Bee trees are meant to be staging locations so the scouts can lead the hive to their new home.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Sugar High"}]

When the scout bees find a suitable location for a permanent hive, their next priority is

“Right now, they’re looking for a sugar source,” Jordan said. “Bees need sugar to produce wax from their glands. Once they produce the wax and form it, they'll actively engineer foam in what we call a pendulum manner to make honeycombs.”

Bees instinctively know how to build hives, and their goal is to start propagating as soon as possible after a hive-destroying incident.

Once they find a suitable spot with plenty of sugar in the vicinity, maybe a rock formation or building near a flower-filled meadow, the queen will follow the scouts to the new hive. Instinctively, all the bees on the bee tree will follow her.

Jordan didn't think there would be any bee trees for tourists to see by Wednesday.

“Those clusters will be gone within 24 to 48 hours if they find a good location,” he said. “After that, there’s nothing you can do to recover them, because tracking them is very hard.

The fact that bee trees can still be seen along U.S. Highway 191 six days after the June 16 crash might indicate the bees are having trouble finding an ideal place for a new home. But it definitely means the colonies can be safely recovered.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Get Those Bees, Please"}]

Within 24 hours of the semitruck incident, people were at the scene removing the damaged honey boxes and trying to recover whatever remained of the bee colonies that had been residing in them.

Jordan said the first 48 hours are crucial in a bee recovery situation like that.

“If you can’t get new hives set up in 48 hours, the queens will migrate and leave a pheromone trail that the bees accommodating her in that hive will follow,” he said. “That’s what the bee trees are: thousands of bees accumulating around the queen.”

That means there’s a small window to safely save these bees before they become permanent Yellowstone residents.

Jordan’s strategy would be to place a mobile swarm trap. It’s basically a column of PVC pipes with buckets attached to either end. The height can be adjusted to get as close as possible to the colony clusters.

“If the bees accumulate in the buckets as a temporary hive, you can relocate them to an apiary and manage them there,” he said. “You can even hold a bucket up to the colony and shake them inside. That’s how you can naturally collect and remove a colony.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"No Bears — Yet"}]

Commercial vehicles like semitrucks are banned in Yellowstone, but U.S. Highway 191 is an exception. It hugs the western boundary of the park and is an important 55-mile thoroughfare between West Yellowstone and Big Sky, 

"They've enacted a temporary 35 mph speed limit on the section where the bees are," Holstein said. "People have to keep their windows up, and there's no stopping until crews can get the remaining bees rounded up."

When the bee trees disappear, it means the bees have found a suitable spot to rebuild their hive. Finding and removing the colony would be difficult, if not impossible, especially in the dangerous wilderness of Yellowstone.

[{"type":"text","text":"After all, who loves honey more than bears?"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"“I haven’t seen any bears,” Holstein said. “Yet.”"}]

Jordan was more concerned about the people who lost their honey boxes and bee colonies. He knew how much money they had lost and must have spent trying to salvage whatever they could from the accident.

“From the way it looks. I’d think about 40-50% of what’s there is salvageable, maybe,” he said. “Each honey box can cost around $500 and generate around $2,000 in honey. 

"There could be two or three owners who lost their livelihood in that accident. That’s at least one whole company that has to rebuild.”

Bee tree swarm 6 22 26

<title>Millions Of Bees Swarm On Trees In Yellowstone After Hives Smashed In Semi Crash | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Almost a week after a semitruck carrying millions of bees flipped over in Yellowstone National Park and destroyed hundreds of hives, bees are still swarming on trees in the area. “It’s what's called a swarming mechanism,” said a Wyoming beekeeper.

Millions Of Bees Swarm On Trees In Yellowstone After Hives Smashed In Semi Crash

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

Dubois, Wyoming, is a name that, to this day, is 

. It's pronounced “dew-boys” instead of the French “deh-bwah" as a deliberate slight to U.S. senator Fred Dubois, after whom the town was named — by Dubois himself.

The locals wanted their town’s name to be Tibo, the Shoshone word for "stranger" or "white man.” It was an affectionate moniker for Episcopal priest Father John Roberts, one of the first white homesteaders in the area.

There’s another strange name that factors into Dubois' strange naming history: Neversweat.

It’s a relic of Fremont County’s early history of bustling wilderness outposts in the mountains of western Wyoming. But was Dubois almost named something as unsavory as Neversweat?

“It's one of those stories where there's some truth in it and some that's not true,” said historian Steve Banks. “I read a little quip one time that said, ‘If you're going to tell a historical story, you have the truth and the myth, and you want to print the one that gets the most attention.’”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"You’ve Got Mail"}]

While Dubois’ history of human habitation stretches back thousands of years, it didn’t become officially incorporated as a town until 1914. Before then, Dubois was one of several small settlements that stretched from Riverton and Fort Washakie into the mountainous wilderness beyond.

Dubois is a name that, to this day, is spoken out of spite. It's pronounced “dew-boys” instead of the French “deh-bwah" as a slight to U.S. senator Fred Dubois — who named the town after himself — and hated it when people mispronounced his French surname.

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