Life and death in Death Canyon

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Life and death in Death Canyon

Life in the backcountry ranger station in GTNP’s Death Canyon in 1959 was short on amenities, such as plumbing for instance. But like many in my generation, I grew up carrying clean water into the house from the well, then grey water back out. We still remember the slop bucket.

The slop bucket was usually a repurposed five-gallon oil container. Like today’s sink drain, it was where the dregs from coffee cups went, and shaving water. When we washed vegetables or brushed our teeth, we added to the contents of the slop bucket. And that’s where we poured the dirty dish water. When the bucket was full someone had to take it out and empty it away from the house.

Past readers have reminded me that on the farm we always had two slop buckets. Grey water went into one and food scraps into the other. The second bucket was carried to the pig pen and the contents dumped into a trough. They disappeared in seconds amidst an outburst of enthusiastic squeals.

One night in Death Canyon I’m negligent. As I get ready for bed I notice the slop bucket is almost full. I decide to leave it until morning.

The next morning my only companion in the mountains that summer—other than Spud, my saddle horse—is floating in the slop bucket, drowned. He or she is a pretty little deer mouse who shows up regularly after supper, nibbles at whatever small treat I leave out, then spents a busy evening scurrying around the cabin while I read under the Coleman lantern.

Probably that night a morsel of food had been floating in the slop bucket, just far enough down from the edge to be tempting, but too far to climb back out.

Author : Don M Ricks

Life and death in Death Canyon
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