Day 3 -- Wendover, Nevada to Springville, Utah -- 186 Miles

Wow! What a day. With Wilbur and Orville Wright keeping us company on the disc player, we powered our way out of Wendover, Nevada, across the seemingly endless Utah salt flats, and into the sparsely-populated Utah desert country south of Interstate 80. Not wanting to get anywhere near Salt Lake City and its jam-packed freeways and manic drivers, we ventured off the interstate at the Grantsville exit and headed south into the unknown.

Our intent, at least on paper, was to wend our way down a variety of narrow two-lane roads to the tiny state park of Camp Floyd somewhere off to the south and east of our location. Visiting Camp Floyd had long been a goal of mine since I started studying the genealogy of my mother’s family who had some tumultuous beginnings in the area.

Camp Floyd’s history goes back to the year 1857, when some less than scrupulous advisors convinced President James Buchannan, yet another of my relatives, to go to war with the Mormons and the Mormon Church for their supposed dastardly deeds in far-off Utah. The President sent some 3,500 troops to under General Albert Sydney Johnston to bring some order to the rebellious Mormon law-breakers and establish a U.S. Government presence in the area.

In response, the head of the Mormon Church, Brigham Young, having learned of the oncoming invasion force, raised a militia army of his own numbering some 5,000 troops. Not wanting to simply wait for the U.S. troops to arrive, Brigham fortified Echo Canyon, which leads into Salt Lake City from the north. He figured if Johnston’s troops were crazy enough to enter the canyon they would find themselves drawing fire from both sides of the canyon walls. Sagely, Brigham Young also sent some of his men to attack the long trains of supply wagons traveling separately from the advancing troops, the destruction of which effectively marooned the troops near Wyoming’s Fort Bridger north of Salt Lake City for the entire winter of 1857/58

In the end, the stalemate with the U.S. army was settled without any major bloodshed, and the U.S. Government backed down from their invasion intentions. However, the Mormon Church had to agree to allow a fort to be established in Utah to allow U.S. soldiers to be on hand to protect the overland pioneers from native American attack and any other threats to health and safety to the pioneers. Grudgingly, the Mormons gave in but stipulated that the fort must be constructed well away from the Salt Lake City area.

The area selected lies about fifty miles to the south and west of Salt Lake City and near the northwest end of Utah Lake. After the truce was solidified, Johnston’s 3,500 troops were allowed to march down Echo Canyon and through the streets of Salt Lake City on their way south. Though lasting only from 1858 until the beginning of the Civil War in early 1861, Camp Floyd and the resultant nearby civilian town of Fairfield constituted the third largest settlement in Utah for those several years.

My ancestors, the Daleys, lived in the tiny village of Springville which is located on the eastern side of Utah Lake and about forty miles from Camp Floyd. Part of the family history tells me that my 2-times great grandfather, John Daley, as well as an unknown number of his brothers, were involved in both farming and the freighting of goods. I have long wondered if John had been involved in freighting supplies to Camp Floyd, but so far I have not turned up any proof. But genealogical lore tells me that John was on a freighting run when he was supposedly “killed by Indians” somewhere out in the Utah desert. No other information has ever turned up on the subject. Part of my reason for wanting to visit Camp Floyd was to see just how far a trip that would have been and what the terrain might look like and the like.

We got to the town of Grantsville first, just as we expected, and fully intended to roll right on through this town of 11,000 people. It’s a pleasant-looking town for sure, but what caught my eye as we rolled along the main street was a sign that proclaimed that a left turn would take us to the “Reed Donner” museum. As long-time students of western history we naturally recognized the two surnames as being connected with the famous/infamous Donner Party whose trip west came to such a tragic end in the year 1846.

Evidently the local area around Grantsville was called “Twenty Springs” in those days and was widely known as a wonderful place to pause and recoup after long weeks trekking west on the dusty prairie. Many a wagontrain diarist would remark on the crystal-clear and inexhaustible water supply available at the springs.

Naturally we took a quick left turn and headed right over to the museum to see what we could see. Unfortunately the museum was closed and we were advised by the entrance sign to call one of a dozen listed phone numbers and a docent would show up to conduct us inside. Not wanting to bother with that, we instead took the opportunity to have our lunch in the RV parked beside the museum’s leafy grounds and contented ourselves with viewing the many and sundry outdoor exhibits available.

After lunch we got back on the highway and continued our trek in the dirction of Camp Floyd. As we listened intently to David McCullogh describe the hundreds of demonstration flights Wilbur and Orville Wright were conducting in their wood and fabric-covered, twin-wing Wright Flyers of 1908, we enjoyed some of the most sparsely populated and traveled country we’ve seen in a long, long time. Certainly, if you want to avoid the crowds of Salt Lake City, do take highway 145 turnoff toward Grantsville and then continue on toward Toole using Utah Route 36. It’s just great.

After turning onto Utah Route 73 from 36, we finally were in reach of Camp Floyd. Camp Floyd is not a camp any longer of course. When the soldiers were called back east in early 1861, the U.S. Government sold everything they couldn’t load into a wagon to sustain the troops on the journey, destroyed what weapons they couldn’t carry, and sold the remainder of the camp to the Mormons. This included millions of dollars in supplies, the contents of the buildings, and the very buildings themselves. As you might guess, the fort was reduced to vacant land in short order.

When you go to Camp Floyd nothing now remains but the overland stage stop and Pony Express Station, the one-time Suttler’s store now converted to a museum, and a nearby lonely field of white soldier tompstones. Still, we were thrilled to hear the presentation and get reacquainted with Camp Floyd’s story. Naturally I was looking for any research material that the Suttler’s store might have available, and I came away with a book on the story of the “Mormon War,” as well as one on the Mormon Battalion in which another of my ancestors served during the Mexican War.

Reluctantly, we had to leave the serenity of Camp Floyd and seek a camp to sleep for the night. We never make reservations so it’s always an adventure to try and find our evening camp once the clock arrives at the late afternoon hours. In this case, we were shooting for my ancestors' old stomping grounds of Springville, which meant immersing ourselves in the afternoon traffic of south Salt Lake City was going to be unavoidable.

Just as we expected, super-populated cities are just not a fun place through which to pilot a 32-foot RV, but we managed, albeit at a much higher rate of speed than I am normally comfortable driving. But by four o’clock we had arrived at our destination and discovered that the Springville KOA campground had plenty of room to include us. They quickly issued us a shady spot in which to have our dinner and relax until the whole adventure begins anew tomorrow.