This morning I watched the movements of a pack train that reached here about 8 o'clock last night.
    The invariable custom of "packers" is for each mule to stand in a line, side by side, with their heads in one direction. The "aparejos" are then taken off and the saddle blanket thrown on top. Each mule then is at liberty, and the aparejos stand as shown in a sketch taken at Shasta in one line or forming a square angle--and afterwards the Mexicans build a fire in the center to cook supper & sleep.
    In the morning the drove of mules are taken towards the aparejos and each mule smelling his pack forms in a line in the same order as while unpacking. It takes two men to "girt" the aparejos on--while the mule grunts and winces until it is fixed. I should say here that each mule is blindfolded first.
    Mr. Thompson informed me that barrels, window sashes, buggies, carriages, billiard tables, handcarts, furniture of all kinds are packed on mules to Yreka.
    In the summer of 1854 Mr. Robert Woods, a horse "packer" for Tomlinson & Woods of Yreka, was crossing the Scott Mountain when a shot in the neck from behind a rock took down his mule. He fixed his revolver and shot the robber who fired on him, who leaped up and exclaimed to his companions "I am shot. I am a dead man," when two other men came out from behind a rock with their rifles--but while they were seeking someplace from whence to shoot and be in safety Mr. Woods succeeded in making his escape, leaving his mule, saddlebags & money amounting to about $1,400. They afterward recovered the mule--who soon got well.
James Mason Hutchings, diary entry for January 14, 1855, Library of Congress MMC-1892


    Miners in search of the precious metal have penetrated the vast forests, explored the deep cañons, climbed the rocky steeps, and, eventually, many of them have made themselves a dwelling place among the rugged and almost inaccessible mountains of California. Thus shut out from the cities of the plain, packing, to them, has become an indispensable necessity; and is not only the means of obtaining their supplies, but, like the ever-welcome expressman, a kind of connecting link between the valleys and the mountains.
    In some of the more isolated mining localities the arrival of a pack train is an event of some importance, and men gather around it with as much apparent interest as though they expected to see some dear old friend stowed away somewhere among the packs.
    This necessity has created an extensive packing business with the cities of Stockton, Marysville, Shasta, and Crescent City, but very little with Sacramento at the present time.
    We are indebted to a friend in Stockton for the following interesting information concerning the packing trade of that city.
    The quantity of freight packed on mules to the counties of Calaveras, Tuolumne, Mariposa, and Tulare from Stockton is about two hundred tons weekly, or one-fifth of the entire amount of goods weekly transported.
    There are generally from forty to fifty mules in a train, mostly Mexican, each of which will carry from three hundred to three hundred and fifty pounds, and with which they will travel from twenty-five to thirty-five miles per day, without becoming weary.
    If there is plenty of grass they seldom get anything else to eat. When fed on barley, which is generally about three months of the year--November, December, and January--it is only given once a day, and in the proportion of from seven to eight pounds per mule. They seldom drink more than once a day, in the warmest of weather. The average life of a mule is about sixteen years. The Mexican mules are tougher and stronger than American mules; for, while the latter seldom can carry more than from two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds, the former can carry three hundred and fifty pounds with greater ease. This fact may arise from the mules in Mexico being accustomed to packing only, and over a mountainous country; while the American mules are used only for draft. The Mexican mule, too, can carry a person forty miles per day for ten or twelve days consecutively, over a mountainous trail; while it is very difficult for an American mule to accomplish over twenty-five or thirty miles per day.
    The Mexican mule can travel farther and endure more without food than any other quadruped; and with him, apparently, it makes but little difference whether fed regularly or not; still, like animals of the biped species, he has no objection to the best of good living. They can, however, always be kept fat with but little care, and it is but very little that is required; while the American mule, to do only half the amount of work, requires good food, regularly given, besides being well cared for otherwise. The Mexicans consider them altogether too delicate for their use. Then again, from the steady regularity of their steps, the Mexican mule is much the easier, generally, under the saddle, and a person will not often become as much fatigued from riding one a week as he would be in riding an American mule for only three days.
    The packing trade of Marysville is very extensive with Downieville, Eureka North, Morrison's Diggins, St. Louis, Pine Grove, Poker Flat, Gibsonville, Nelson's Point, American Valley, Indian Valley, and all the intermediate and surrounding places in the counties of Sierra and Plumas, giving employment to about two thousand five hundred mules, and between three and four hundred men.
    From the town of Shasta, during the winter of 1854-'5, the number of mules employed in the packing trade to the various towns and mining localities north of Shasta was one thousand eight hundred and seventy six. This does not include the animals used by individual miners; and, according to the Shasta Courier of Nov. 11th, 1854, it would be safe to estimate the number at two thousand.
    "With this data a very fair estimate of the amount of freight packed from Shasta may be formed. Each mule load will average two hundred pounds. A trip to the most remote point to which goods are taken will never occupy more than two weeks--in many instances three or four days less. It is a very moderate calculation, then, to average the trips of the entire two thousand mules at two weeks each."
    "This will give a result of one hundred tons per week as the aggregate amount of freight packed from Shasta--which, at the very low figure of five cents per pound, would yield the sum of twenty thousand dollars per trip to the packers."
    The principal places to which freight is thus transported from Shasta are Weaverville (or "Weaver," as it is now called), Yreka, and the settlements around, and between those points. One is astonished to see the singular goods that are often packed across the Trinity and Scott mountains to those places; such as buggies, windows, boxes, barrels, bars of iron, chairs, tables, plows, &c.
    In the fall of 1853, there was an iron safe, nearly three feet square, and weighing 352 pounds, transported on a very large mule from Shasta to Weaverville, a distance of thirty-eight miles, over a rough and mountainous trail, without an accident; but after the load was taken off the mule lay down, and died in a few hours afterwards.
    All kinds of goods, at all times, are not alike safely packed. A friend of ours who resides in Yreka sent, among other things, a rocking chair and looking-glass, "and when I reached there," said he, "I found that the chair back was broken, the rockers off, and one arm in two pieces; and the looking-glass was as much like a crate of broken crockery as anything I ever saw."
    A gentleman has also informed us that in the summer of 1855 two sets of millstones were packed from Shasta to Weaverville, the largest weighing six hundred pounds. Being looked upon as an impossibility for one mule to carry, it was first tried to be "slung" between two mules, but that being impracticable, it was abandoned and packed on one. The following fact will give some idea of the expense often occasioned, as well as the immense weight sometimes packed, over a rough and mountainous country:
    When the Yreka Herald was about to be published, a press was purchased in San Francisco, at a cost of about six hundred dollars, upon which the freight alone amounted to nine hundred dollars, making the entire cost $1,300 [sic].
    The "bed-piece," weighing three hundred and ninety-seven pounds, which, with the aparejo, ropes, &c., exceeded four hundred and thirty pounds, was the weight of the entire pack, placed upon a very large mule.
    On descending the Scott mountain, this splendid animal slipped a little, when the pack over-balanced and threw him down the steep bank, killing him instantly.
    Many a mule, in California, has breathed his last in a ravine where accident had tossed him--to be the food of wolves or coyotes.
    One [pack] train was passing the steep side of a mountain, in Trinity County, when a large rock came rolling from above and struck one of the mules in the side, frightening others off the track; and killing one man and three mules. This can be appreciated by a glance at the engraving on the opposite page.
    During the severe winter of 1852, and '53, there was a pack train snowed in between Grass Valley and Onion Valley, and out of forty-five animals but three were taken out alive. It is almost incredible, the amount of danger and privation to which men who follow this business are sometimes, exposed.
    It is truly astonishing to see with what ease and care these useful animals pack their heavy loads over deep snow, and to notice how very cautiously they cross holes where the melting snow reveals some ditch or tree beneath; and where some less-careful animal has "put his foot in it," and, as a consequence, has sunk with his load into trouble. We have often watched them descending a snow bank when heavily packed, and have seen that as they could not step safely, they have fixed their feet and braced their limbs, and unhesitatingly slide down with perfect security over the worst places.
    There is something very pleasing and picturesque in the sight of a large pack train of mules quietly descending a hill, as each one intelligently examines the trail, and moves carefully, step by step, on the steep and dangerous declivity, as though he suspected danger to himself, or injury to the pack committed to his care.
    The packing trade from Crescent City, a seaport town about three hundred miles north of San Francisco, is one of growing importance. From thence most of the goods required in Klamath, and some portions of Siskiyou and Trinity counties, are transported. There is already an extensive trade with Jacksonville (Rogue River Valley), Illinois Valley, Sailor's Diggings, New Orleans Bar (on the Klamath River), and county seat of Klamath, Scott's River, Applegate Creek, and several other prosperous localities in that section.
    There are about one thousand five hundred mules in the packing trade at these points. It is no uncommon circumstance to meet between twenty and thirty trains, with from twenty to seventy-five animals in each train, and all heavily laden, on your way from Jacksonville to Crescent City. The loud "hippah," "mulah," of the Mexican muleteers sounds strangely to the ear in the deep and almost unbroken stillness of the forest.
    It seems to us that the Mexican sings no song, hums no tune, to break in upon the monotonous duties of his calling, but is apparently indifferent to every kind of cheerfulness, until the labors of the day are done, and then but seldom.
    A large portion of the trail lies through an immense forest of redwood trees, and which, from their large growth and numbers, are much more imposing in appearance than the mammoth tree grove of Calaveras.
    The soil must be exceedingly fertile, as the leaves of the common fern grow to the height of from twelve to fifteen feet.
    On the trail from Trinidad to Salmon River there is a hollow tree, measuring thirty-three feet in diameter, which is the usual camping place of trains, holding all the packs for the largest, besides affording shelter and sleeping room to the packers.
    The distance from Crescent City to Jacksonville is 120 miles, and generally takes packers about ten days to go through.
    There is now a considerable packing trade carried on between Union--Humboldt Bay--and the mining settlements on Salmon, Eel, and Trinity rivers; also, with the town and vicinity of Weaverville.
    All of these trails across the Coast Range of mountains are very rough, and almost impassable during the winter from snow in some places and mud in others.
    We are indebted to Mr. Dressel, of the firm of Kuchel & Dressel, of this city, who has just returned from a sketching tour in the north, for interesting particulars concerning the above trail.
    During the Rogue River Indian War of 1853, while Capt. Lamerick's command was stationed at Bates', on Grave Creek, to keep the trail clear and guard the pack trains against the Indians, an incident occurred which is too good to be lost altogether, and for which we are indebted to a source nearly as good as an eyewitness; especially as the night was extremely dark. As usual, a strong guard was placed around the house for protecting the provisions, groceries, liquors, and other valuables that were stacked in the rear. A Mr. D. was not very comfortably situated to sleep, from the fact that the night was very cold, and he had only one blanket "to go to bed to." In this dilemma he remembered that among the other good things piled up was some good old rum, and the thought struck him that if he could only secure a bottleful, he could raise sufficient spiritual help to make up for the deficiency of blankets. But to get it, he thought, "Aye, there's the rub." He knew the risk that he should run if he were caught at it; or if the guard, in the dark, mistook him for an Indian; but, after debating in his own mind all the advantages and disadvantages, he concluded that the advantages were in favor of taking his chances, and having the rum. Stealthily went his feet, and cautious were his movements, and as luck would have it he succeeded not only in finding the right keg, and tapping it, but of transferring a portion of its contents to a large black bottle, with which he had "armed and equipped" himself before starting on his dangerous but stimulating mission. Grasping and guarding the treasure with his arm, he groped his way with cautious movements towards his solitary blanket; but, as fate would have it, the guard was awake! and moreover, to increase his trepidation and his danger, he shouted in a stentorian voice, "Who goes there?"
    "A friend," replied D.
    "Advance, friend, and give the countersign," cried the guard in a fierce and firm tone. At this critical juncture of affairs, D.'s presence of mind forsook him, and he hesitated in his reply.
    "Advance, friend, and give the countersign," again cried the guard, in a trembling and confused tone of voice, as he raised his rifle to a "present arms," "fire."
    D. immediately, but cautiously, advanced towards the guard, and said in full, round English,
    "I've got a good bottle of rum."
    "Then pass on, friend," said the guard, "but be sure and pass this way, and give that countersign," as he lowered his musket, and shared the plunder.
    The business of packing is often attended with considerable danger, as well as exposure, which the following incident will illustrate.
    In the summer of 1854, Mr. Robert Woods (of the firm of Tomlinson & Woods, boss packers of Yreka), was crossing the Scott mountain, when a shot was fired from behind a rock, which took effect in the neck of the mule he was riding. It fell instantly, scarcely giving him time to recover his feet--when, with great presence of mind, he deliberately aimed his revolver at the robber who had fired at him, and shot him; when he leaped up, exclaiming, "I am a dead man." Two other men then made their appearance, with their rifles; but, while they were seeking a secure place behind a rock, from whence to shoot, Mr. Woods made his escape, leaving his saddle mule, saddlebags, and money (about $1,400) behind.
    Packers on the Sacramento River trail to Yreka have been plundered of their whole train and cargoes by the Indians, and their owners murdered. For two years this route was abandoned, chiefly from this cause.
    The Mexicans invariably blindfold each mule, before attempting to pack him, after which he stands quietly, until the bandage is removed. A man generally rides in front of every train, for the purpose of stopping the train when anything goes wrong, and acting as a guide to the others; although in every train there is always a leader, known generally as "the bell mule." Most of the mules prefer a white one, which they unhesitatingly follow, so that when he starts it is the signal for the others immediately to follow.
    They seldom start before nine o'clock in the morning, after which they travel until sunset without stopping, except when something goes wrong.
    When about to camp, the almost invariable custom of packers, after removing the goods (by which they always sleep, in all kinds of weather), is for the mules to stand side by side, in a line, or in a hollow square, with their heads in one direction, before taking off the aparejos; and then, in the morning, when the train of loose mules is driven up to camp to receive their packs, each one walks carefully up to his own aparejo and blanket; which he evidently knows as well as does the packer.
    An aparejo is a kind of pack saddle, or pad, the covering of which is made of leather and stuffed with hair, and generally weighs from twenty-five to forty pounds. These are always used by Mexican muleteers, and are much easier for the mule than a common pack saddle.
    When the toils of the day are over and the mules are peacefully feeding comes the time of relaxation to the men, who while they are enjoying the aroma of their fine-flavored cigarita, spend the evening hours telling tales of some far-off, but fair señorita, or make up their bed by the packs and as soon as they have finished their supper, lie down to sleep for the night.
Hutchings' Illustrated California Magazine, December 1856, page 241-249 Profusely illustrated; click to view.


    The first billiard table that was introduced into Southern Oregon is there yet. It forms one of the attractions of the little town of Kerby, and around it are clustered many tales. The table was never intended for Kerby. As a matter of fact, it was there before Kerby was. First came the table, then a saloon was built around it, then came Kerby.
    It was back in the early '60s, when the roads were as rough as the manners of the men in that unsettled and but partly civilized country. [The history of Kerby extends at least as far back as 1856.] The chief industry was mining, and many a camp boomed and petered as in the early days of California. Althouse was on the boom and saloons and dance halls were flourishing. Each proprietor of these gilded dens sat up nights thinking how to beat his neighbor in attractions to lure the precious dust from the pans of the prospectors.
    At length one enterprising fellow conceived the scheme of importing a billiard table from San Francisco. It was an easy matter, he argued, to get the table to Crescent City by water, but how to get the machine over the divide! He sought old Martinez, the best packer in Southern Oregon. Martinez had a mule, Anita, the pride of his life. Anything that Anita couldn't pack could not find its way into Southern Oregon.
    So said Martinez, and he readily made a contract to fetch the table over the divide as far as Sailor's Diggings at Waldo Well.
    The sight of the queer-looking package staggered the packer, but he reflected that it would not stagger Anita, and, if not, all would be well. So he ripped out a string of Spanish oaths to help the thing along, then he got his men and 60-odd mules in line, for he was the director of a great pack train.
    He loaded up a miscellaneous lot of stuff on his mules and then it came Anita's turn. Now Anita had never seen a billiard table, but was wise enough to know that it was going to be no snap to lug that thing across the mountains. Eight men elevated the table, but when they let it drop the wise old mule had sidestepped. But Martinez rigged up a block and tackle and hauled the table into the air. Then Anita was backed under the table and the rest was easy.
    For three days the pack worked to a charm. At night the table was removed and in the morning reloaded. On the third evening the train stopped at Rattlesnake Bend, about a mile from Waldo.
    The pack stampeded--all except Anita. Martinez knew that Anita would keep right on to Waldo and he left her to her own resources, while he joined his men in the roundup of the runaways.
    Anita was not to be found when, two hours later, the train arrived at Waldo.
    They found her next morning eight miles away from Waldo. She had slept with her load; she had carried her last burden; she was quite dead.
    Martinez's anguish knew no bounds. He cursed himself; he cursed the mule, then apologized to the memory of Anita and went over to Althouse Creek to curse the man who had employed him. He demanded recompense for Anita. The man demanded his table. There were not strong men enough in the country to carry the table over to Althouse, and nobody wanted to buy it.
    When Martinez recovered from his grief his business head got into motion again. He buried Anita and then set up the table as a monument to the faithful animal's memory. It was not long before a shanty was run up over the table, and it required only a few days more to get enough whiskey to dignify the shanty with the name of saloon. Far and wide Martinez spread the news that there was to be an opening on Saturday night in honor of the only billiard table in Southern Oregon.
    And what an opening was there! There were music and dancing, and singing and drinking, and a "punching of the ivories." The other saloons in the neighborhood had to close down for the night. The table became the "proper thing" in the diggings, and there was a line of players every night waiting for a chance to get a cue. At length a saloon man took the table and shanty off Martinez's hands and gave lessons in billiards.--San Francisco Call.
Sumpter Miner, Sumpter, Oregon, November 28, 1900, page 9  Abridged. The "romance" was originally printed in the Call of August 12, 1900, page 20


    Now, sir! I believe any poor boy can get well off if he's got pretty fair health. Why, there's John VanDyke, pretty well to do, he is, come to this country as poor as any of 'em; and not any more about him than any the rest of us! Well he rustled around, got a few cheap ponies and then went out of the valley, and I didn't hear anything but rumors for several years, when he came down all at once with a pack train and George Ernest as train boss, or teamster! Every pack animal had an 'aparejo' and George told me the outfit was worth $20,000 and John out of debt! 'But, Fred,' says he, 'the d---1 of it will be ever to get the money out of them!' I worked in John's train several trips to Crescent City, and I guess he made money every cargo!
    An 'aparejo'? Well, they're ever so much better than pack saddles, for they ain't so hard to load, and because it's stout, solid leather; so when each animal's cargo is unloaded and laid on brush, sticks or stones to keep dry below, the 'aparejo' is laid over its own pile and keeps it perfectly dry. A pack saddle don't do any good that way, and if your things keep dry you've got to carry tarpaulins or oilcloths extra! Then again the aparejo is padded on the underside and the animal don't get sore in any way. It has a supported shelf sewed or riveted on each lower edge outside, and so the load has a rest which it don't have with the pack saddle. (Ap-pa-ray-ho.)
    How a pack animal is broken? Well, we don't take much pains. When we start for a cargo we fasten a bag of sand on each side of the saddle or aparejo, which he can't well hurt, and spilling sand is no loss; he is pretty well used to it by the time we reach Crescent City or any other coast traders. He will bring his cargo in about as well as any of the rest.
Fredrick Barneburg, in Reese P. Kendall, Pacific Trail Camp-Fires, 1901.


    There were no goods hauled by wagon to the mines in 1852, 1853 or 1854. In fact, it took a wagon with 500 pounds of freight two days to shoot the canyon 12 miles, and then sometimes they would only get through with the front wheels. I had to camp in there one night with a train. It got so dark in that heavy timber one couldn't see a mule, and had to stop, tie up and unpack till daylight, and with no supper. I well remember Maury and Davis had a splendid pack train of 16 to 20 Mexican mules, and used to camp with us. I think in the fall of 1852 Dan Rathbun rode the bell horse, operated the kitchen department and saddled up the mules, while Maury and Davis and Alec Miller did the packing.
    It was lots of fun those days to get up of a cold, rainy morning at daylight, go out and try to find the mules, while the others mixed up some bread with water and saleratus, baked a pone of bread and fried some bacon in a frying pan over a camp fire. With a tin cup full of good coffee--did anything taste so good? Then put up 100- and 150-pound packages on an aparejo or saddle and fasten it, drive all day in the rain, get into camp, unpack, and by the time you get your cargo covered up it is dark and everything is so wet you can't build a fire, spread your wet blanket down under a fir tree, if you can find one, then if you are so fortunate as to be the possessor of a gimlet and straw, stealthily approach a 10-gallon keg of old Kentuck corn juice that has been shipped round the Horn, and is well shaken up, get your auger and your straw in the elixir of life and imbibe liquid refreshments, so long as you can hold your breath, then turn in to your wet blankets, and you will dream "I wonder if they miss me at home" and "The bedrock is pitching downward." You wake up next morning looking as bright as one of Uncle Sam's new silver dollars, and wonder where you are at. If it is foggy and still raining, you know you are still in the Umpqua. You look around, finally commence making goo-goo eyes when you get a glance at Old Kentucky and gently approach it in the rear, while the boys are making a countercharge. You insert your straw and commence pumping, and stay with it till your wind gives out, then start out after the mules. And this thing goes on for a week at a time without a dry thread on you, and the rains in December and January are real wet, too.
James H. Twogood, "Reminiscences of an Old-Timer," Evening Capital News, Boise, Idaho, March 24, 1906, page 3


    Speaking of pack trains, I would say here that all the supplies for the mines in the early fifties were transported by pack train. These trains. as they were called, consisted of from ten to sometimes more than a hundred mules, and the average load per mule would be 250 pounds. Many of the larger trains were Mexican and they were the best equipped. Their mules were small but well trained.
    When camp was made for the night each mule's load was placed to itself and the aparejo (pack saddle) placed in front of the load. When driven in for reloading the "bell mare" was led to the head of the line, and each mule lined up directly in front of its own pack. All mule trains had one horse called the "bell mare" that was ridden by a boy in the lead of the train. The mules would follow the bell. When strung out on the mountain trails they seemed to keep step or step in the same places until the earth on hill trails was pressed down or dug out to resemble stairs.
    We met several pack trains as we continued our journey through the beautiful Rogue River Valley. At that time its primitive beauty had not been marred by the hand of the white man.
George W. Riddle, History of Early Days in Oregon, Riddle Enterprise, 1920, pages 26-28


    A man named Stateler was the principal wholesale merchant of the town [Crescent City]. His house was a very busy place for the repacking of goods to go over the mountains. This packing was principally carried on by Mexicans, who came from Mexico with their pack trains already equipped to engage in this particular trade of packing from Crescent City. Their equipment was a Mexican pack saddle called "aparejo" which consisted of a pad made of good leather and canvas, and well made for packing all kinds of freight. It was not an unusual thing to see a safe that would weigh 400 pounds packed by a strong mule wearing one of these saddles.
     The year 1857 was the time that construction of the wagon road across the mountains was begun, leading from Crescent City to the Illinois Valley in Oregon, but not completed until the summer of 1855 [sic], an event that in a short time sent the Mexican and his pack mules to Eastern Oregon and Idaho, to do packing in the new mines of that country.
Dan L. Green, "Scraps of Oregon History," Grants Pass Daily Courier, page 6




Last revised November 12, 2025