­Home in the High Country

By Emma Tomasko

 

It was the summer of 1957 when Jim McMullen first set foot in Camp Hale. Recently retired from the U.S Navy with the title of Lieutenant Commander, he was eager to embrace a quieter life full of camping, fishing, and the peaceful outdoors. His service in the military, particularly having fought in the Korean war, had instilled in him a profound respect for the military forces and their scrupulous training, especially for the renowned 10th Mountain Division that had earlier trained at Camp Hale, located just outside of Leadville, Colorado. As an avid outdoorsman and passionate in military history, he felt compelled to visit the site where the soldiers had once trained. When Jim arrived, he set up camp under a shady copse of trees near the Eagle River. And for four generations, that camp spot would prove to inspire his descendants to become skiers, campers, anglers and hikers, and to return year after year to Camp Hale.

Jim McMullen’s trip to Camp Hale marked more than just his beginning of retirement, it was the inception of a lifelong connection to the outdoors that would be passed down through the generations. The shady trees, cold streams, and snowy peaks became his sanctuary, and he returned year after year with his family. Jim McMullen was my great grandfather, and his connection to Camp Hale has echoed through each member of my family’s lives and influenced our deep love for the outdoors. Each trip to Camp Hale created a stronger bond between my great grandfather and the land, and it became a place where he would share his passions with his family. 

Along the stream of the Eagle River he taught his wife, Illene, and his daughter, Martha how to fish. In addition to fishing, he taught his family how to build a campfire. These experiences shaped memories that would be remembered for a lifetime and stories that would be shared forever. Year after year, Jim McMullen would pack up his camper and head up to Camp Hale with Illene, Martha and her husband Marty, and grandchildren Matt and Jessica Tomasko. There were no formal campgrounds then, just a wide open space arrayed with long grass and yellow snapdragon flowers. Each year they would park their camper trailer next to a small lake and would explore the nearby land, ranging from rocky jeep trails to mines. One summer, my dad Matt traversed high up onto the mountain ridges to an area called the Climax Molybdenum Mine. Nearby stood an old water tower which stood high into the sky. Matt, a rather ambitious child, was intrigued to climb up the tower. But first, he had to cross the Arkansas River. He crossed his way over the fast running water, and once he reached the other side he began to climb up the creaky structure of the tower. Once he had climbed several feet off the ground, his mom Martha captured a picture of him.

 

 

Camp Hale was an area that offered endless opportunities for creativity. Matt and Jessica would spend hours making paper boats to float down the river and watching them navigate their way through the rocks and sticks of the trickling stream. Beyond the sound of the meandering stream was the perpetual whistle of the train as it ran past the winding valley. The train came from a town called Minturn, which was about 2,000 feet lower in elevation than Camp Hale.

To get to Camp Hale, the train had to climb up a steep grade, causing the engine to roar on its way up. On one trip to Camp Hale, Jim and Ilene led their family on a hike up to an old train tunnel. The tunnel was about a block long and cut straight into the mountain. Inside it was dark and cool and each footstep would echo off the walls. Sounds of laughter and whoops would reverberate through the walls of the tunnel. 

 

 

 

Each trip to Camp Hale tied our hearts more tightly into the land. Over the years it became more than just a place to camp, it became a place that we treasured and deeply cared for. As the years passed, my dad Matt brought my mom Michelle, my four siblings; Carter, Izzie, Grace, Liam and myself to this treasured valley. I have vivid memories of many glorious camp trips to Camp Hale.  When me and my siblings were young, my dad would let us sit on his lap and drive the steering wheel of our camper on the dirt road into the valley. This was a tradition that my dad did when he was younger. When we got to the open Camp Hale valley, my brothers and sisters and I would go explore for hours. We would hide in the trees and splash in the river until sunset.

We camped, fished, hiked and brought our mountain bikes.  Often when we explored we would find remnants and artifacts from the 10th Mountain Division. We would find fragments of the gymnasium and bricks from the old structures.  My family’s love for this land and its history was instilled in us as we grew connected to the outdoors. Skiing, biking, hiking, fishing, and relaxing by the campfire became a significant part of my family and who we are. My siblings and I are now in our teens and twenties, and every chance we get we are hitting the slopes or the mountain bike trails, skiing to a 10th Mountain hut, or backpacking along the many trails in the area. I know as I hike through Camp Hale that I am following footsteps made by my great grandfather Jim, my grandparents and my parents, all of whom felt the tug of this land.  And I know that my generation will pass on the great love of this place to those that follow us. How fortunate we are to have Camp Hale preserved as a national monument, so that it may stir the soul of millions more outdoor explorers for generations to come.

 

 

Part 1 – Camp Hale to Combat: The Story of the 10th Mountain Division

 

 

Emma Tomasko is a student at Jefferson Academy highschool. She runs cross country and track and is a member of the National Honors Society, Spanish Honors Society, and Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Outside of school, she enjoys skiing, biking, and hiking with her friends. She is passionate about the outdoors and hopes to pursue a future that combines her love for nature, environmental advocacy, and community engagement.