Ultra-distance runners pay tribute to Donner Party relief team 175 years later

The Donner Relief Expedition – Tim Twietmeyer and Elke Reimer of Auburn, and Bob Crowley and Jennifer Hemmen of Fair Oaks – set out on Valentine's Day to retrace the 100-mile journey 175 years after the original rescue party. Crowley described the frigid temperature, obstacles, steep climbs, injuries and pain the team experienced in chronicling the five-day trek, during which they repeatedly asked, "How did they do it?" They arrived at Donner Memorial State Park on Friday, Feb. 18, on schedule. Here are Crowley's thoughts: Day 1: Monday, Feb. 14 Chasing history We woke to the rays of moonlight shimmering off Camp Far West Lake. Just across the way lay Johnson Ranch. The moon was like a spotlight showing us the way. That was the first choke-up of the day. We donned our period clothing and rifled breakfast. The campground was arising all around us, horses whinnying, anxious like us, for the start of the day. Tacked up, we headed out to our destination, more familiar now: the site of the 1800s adobe house on Johnson Ranch, the very spot the survivors of Forlorn Hope has been brought. The place where William Eddy rang the alarm that families were trapped in the brutal winter condition at Truckee Lake and Alder Creek. And the place we laid down tribute cards, reuniting the 17 members of the Forlorn Hope a year ago. The precise location where all four relief parties departed on their relentless mission to "not turn their backs on the mountains until as many as possible of those poor souls were brought back safely." After a brief ceremony (my second choke-up of the day), we rode out, following the indelible wagon ruts carved from hundreds of wagons a day coming through this outpost before heading on to Sutter's Fort. Atop our steeds and surrounded by pack mules, we had the perspective of those who went before. No one headed east from Johnson Ranch: the rest stop of the one-way emigrant westbound superhighway of the mid-1800s; the gateway to the west, portal to California. No one but the relief parties. On this day in 1847, the First Relief, who left Feb. 4, was between Bear Valley and Yuba Bottoms. Our expedition was leaving 10 days later. We would be chasing history into the Sierra, hoping to "catch" them around day 3 and then synchronizing our last 2 days with theirs, arriving simultaneously 175 years apart, at Truckee (now Donner) Lake on Feb. 18. Our first day was a grind. We trekked and ran through the undulating foothills, rewarding us with occasional broad glimpses of the Sacramento Valley atop a roller, then sending us back into obscurity to siege another hill. Finally, just before dark, we arrived amongst the heritage oaks to our campsite. We were spent but satisfied. We discussed around the campfire what it must have been like for the 1st Relief, who encountered 36 straight hours of hurricane rain during this same stretch. They resorted to sleeping on their feet, soaked clothes drying by the fire, the ground too wet and cold to rest upon. They were relentless. And so must we be. They inspire us to continue to chase history. Onward ho. Day 2: Tuesday, Feb. 15 Struggle We got off to a brisk start, hopeful we'd make good time to Mule Springs. We had another long day ahead, over 25 miles the second day in a row and finally gaining some elevation as we left the rolling foothills behind and entered the portal Bear River canyon to the Sierra. But Steep Hollow had other things in mind. The traverse down was unkind, bushwhacking across one ravine after another trying to follow any traces of narrow animal trails. We arrived at the bottom and wove our way across the river rock bottom of the hollow, striding in and out of ankle-deep frigid mountain water. At first, the chilly flow felt good on our weary feet, then it became irritating and finally a burden. We lost meaningful time picking our way down the ravine and across the water. Now, an ominous obstacle, a steep wall, 1,200 feet tall, loomed. There was no clear path to the top. A fire destroyed the slope and lay asunder everything in its path. Our way out would be climbing over charred log after log and downed debris, through thick thicket which had grown up to replace the forest floor, and up a 40-degree, quarter-mile slope. What should have taken 30 minutes added another 90 minutes to our day. And it sapped the soul from our bodies. It was a brutal struggle. When we crested the top, we gathered around the T-Marker that awaited us and briefly hollered in rejoice. But we still had a half a day journey remaining and it was 2:30 p.m. We drug ourselves along Lowell Hill Road, a thin dirt track carved on the steep southern side of this treacherous granite V-shape cut by Sierra water. Still compromised from my previous day fall, I was in particular holding our team back from making progress. Steep Hollow seized whatever reserves of strength I had and left me asunder. As with the Relief Parties, my teammates picked me up, giving me water, food and encouragement. It inspired me so. I had to finish this day for me. For them. WE had to arrive at Mule Springs together. And after great struggle, we did just that, completing our day's mission at sundown. There were no easy days for the 1st Relief Party, either. They and some of their horses nearly drowned trying to cross the 100-foot-wide, 20-foot-deep torrent of frigid water. By the time they reached Mule Springs, they too began to tear apart. Eddy and Verrot were sent back to Johnson's with the animals. Two more of the youngsters were left behind to guard the cache. The remaining 10 plunged into Bear Valley on foot, in knee-deep snow. We were once bruised, twice chilled, three times exhausted and four bloody. Our crew had the chili and cornbread at the ready and a welcoming fire ablaze. We are battered but not beaten. 20 more hard miles ahead tomorrow, half in the Sierra snow as we steadily gain altitude. Rest will come easy tonight. Just as the Relief Parties, we've no choice. Day 3: Wednesday, Feb. 16 No easy days There's a theme building that will define our memories of this Expedition: the afternoons. So far, every day has begun with energy, enthusiasm and hope, translating into moving at a steady, brisk pace and teasing us into believing we would arrive at camp early. We'd talk about the hot and delicious food our crew was preparing and the beer and Shackleton whiskey (our Expedition choice) we'd soon be swilling. "Ah, not so fast," fate would interject. In the afternoons, we inevitably encounter some unexpected mishap that leaves us to drag our weary carcasses into camp. "Shot," "blown," "whooped," "broken" are a few of the words uttered when asked, "How are you feeling?" by our crew at the end of each day. There was never an easy day for the Relief Parties; why should we expect anything different? Day 3 started with such promise of an early camp arrival. "Finally," we thought, "we've got an easier day." By mid-afternoon, we found ourselves hanging by our fingertips and snowshoe spikes, traversing across a 100-yard snow and ice wall with a precipitous drop below. We huddled to decide if and how we were going to navigate the situation and then patiently and deliberately inched our way across, single file, using each other's footholds which we created by digging our snowshoes into the icy snow ledge. A typically 15-minute trek became a 90-minute harrowing experience, followed by successive heavy snow steep climbs. When we arrived at camp, we were spent. The Relief Parties had conditions and circumstances far beyond what we encounter. The snow was deeper and more prevalent, the trail more unknown, the wind and cold worse. Their clothing was meager and food insufficient. They'd no modern technical gear to aid their progress. It was three times hard, miserable and unrelenting. This provided our Expedition inspiration and curiosity; they showed us how to focus and muster grit when encountering obstacles, emotional troughs and division, and caused us to ask over and over, "How did they do it?" Day 4: Thursday, Feb. 17 Footprints of history We departed the Rainbow Lodge by 7 a.m., with renewed energy thanks to the wonderful food and spirits lifted from the previous evening's event. We could have listened endlessly to Dan Rosen and Frank Mullen's stories and insights. From herein to the Pioneer Monument, we were familiar with the path, having traveled westward on the same trail when we reprised the Forlorn Hope in December 2020. This enabled us to relax and soak in the sunshine and marvel at the snow glistening woods in which we traversed, heading to Cascade Lakes. We stopped at the Charles Stanton sign (not in the correct historical location but nonetheless, meaningful) to find it half-buried in snow. This seemed apropos, given the circumstances. Then we "nooned" at the Royal Gorge Ski Lodge in the parking lot and by 3 p.m. we reached our destination of the Donner Ski Ranch, where that evening we would participate in an "1847 press conference," portraying our relief party personas of John Pierce Rhoads, Reason Tucker, John Stark and William Eddy. We'd finally caught up to the 1st Relief, who camped in the shadow of Donner Pass, just a rock's throw from our location, on the evening of February 17th, 1847. We wondered what the campfire conversation must have been on that fateful eve, knowing they were less than a day's journey to the cabins on the lake. How many members of the Donner Party had already perished? What would be the state of the remaining survivors? In what condition would they find the living quarters? If they only knew, they might have neglected trying to sleep and hurried that night to their assistance. The anticipation must have been high, having come so far and overcome so much. Day 5: Friday, Feb. 18 Emerging from the shadow The anticipation of the culmination of our many years of research and preparation and joyful arrival at the site of the lake encampment left little room for shuteye. We were visibly worn, some of us physically torn, but adrenaline had taken control. We decided to add three more to our troupe for the final seven miles to historically align with the seven men of the 1st Relief. In period garb, we set off for the final push. It was, for the first time in five days, truly all downhill, but not without some slippery traverses and one or two final "man down" callouts for good measure. We took our time and savored the weight of the occasion, enjoying the magnificence of this rugged and unrelenting place. As we approached Donner Memorial State Park, we could hear the murmur of bystanders awaiting our arrival. It heightened our senses and quickened our step. We turned right into the park and straight on to the Pioneer Memorial, which stood proudly at the end of the trail. The path was only partially shoveled and as we came close, the snow had turned to hard pack and ice, making the navigation in authentic footwear unexpectedly comical. It seemed fitting the final steps of this 100-mile journey would be our most precipitous. There were no easy days for the relief parties and every step was a struggle. As we reached the monument, we each gently laid down the 48 tribute cards we carried the entire trek, at the statue's base, thus reuniting those brave souls who unselfishly put themselves in harm's way for others. This was a celebration, albeit subdued. Our mission was to shine a light upon the courageous, ordinary people who emerged from the shadows to perform extraordinary feats, then dissolve into obscurity. We were humbled by the task. We hope we did them justice. May their stories continue to emerge, be told and shared and inspire generations to come.