Pioneers of Outlaw Country

Blasting Through The Wind River Canyon

Blazing a railroad through Wind River Canyon in the early 1900s was essentially hand-painting a snake’s skeleton—rugged crews, dynamite, burros, and sheer drops that would make a circus tightrope look tame. Those hardworking souls carved tunnels out of granite with picks, shovels, and sweat, all while exotic voices from Swedish, Italian, and Japanese laborers echoed between canyon walls.

The Pioneers of Outlaw Country. 

Cowboys, Lawmen and Outlaws… to the businessmen and women who all helped shape Wyoming. 

Here are their stories

Welcome back, folks, to Pioneers of Outlaw Country, where we dig up the untamed stories that made the West wild, unforgettable—and just a little bit outlaw. I’m your host, Jackie Dorothy, historian and journalist. As we celebrate on of Wyoming’s most scenic drives, the Wind River Canyon Scenic By-Way, it is in partnership with the Wyoming Department of Transportation and their Buckle Up campaign. 

Today we’re riding the rails into one of the boldest, most backbreaking engineering feats in Wyoming history: building the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy railroad line through the Wind River Canyon in the heart of the Cowboy State. 

Now, if you’ve ever driven through the Wind River Canyon between Shoshoni and Thermopolis, you know it’s drop-dead gorgeous. Towering granite cliffs, the river churning far below, eagles soaring high above. But in 1909? It wasn’t a sightseeing route. It was hell on Earth.

Let’s rewind to the early 1900s. The Burlington Railroad had a dream: connect Billings, Montana to Casper, Wyoming. They'd already laid track as far as Kirby, just north of the Wind River Canyon. But the next twelve miles? That was the kicker.

Enter McArthur Brothers Construction Company out of New York City. They signed on to the challenge. What followed was two years of blasting, digging, backbreaking labor, and near-miracles of early 20th-century engineering. Between 2,000 and 5,000 men worked this job over its course—a roughneck army of Swedes, Italians, Japanese, and Americans, all driven by grit and a paycheck.

Harry Schafer, a Nebraska-born surveyor who later became a Burlington conductor, worked the canyon starting at age 21. And he remembered every inch of it, even at 91 years old. He called it, quote, "real work."

And I do mean real work.

This was long before bulldozers and safety harnesses. Imagine climbing a vertical granite wall with nothing but a rope and a bundle of dynamite strapped to your back. That’s what these men did—day in, day out. They blasted through rock, carved tunnels by hand, and hauled out the debris in wheelbarrows or on mule-drawn sleds.

At the time, the Wind River Canyon was basically a slit in the mountains—no room for a railroad on either side of the river. The Burlington chose the west side, but it still had to be built up from nothing. Steep walls, no margin for error, and the river roaring right below.

They used 200 burros to haul supplies. Picture this: burros ferrying gear over a swinging bridge made of cedar and juniper poles strung on 1.5-inch cables. The bridge swayed over the river like a slinky in a storm. Men weren’t allowed to cross when the burros were on it—because more than a few had gotten tossed into the drink.

And oh, those camps.

Each camp had a pair of mules, a "bull pen" tent for sleeping, a cook tent, and maybe a makeshift hospital. Sundays were for laundry, half-soling your boots, or shaving—because as Harry Schafer joked, "Believe it or not, we shaved once a week."

They had their bright spots too. A chef from the Brown Palace Hotel in Denver served up meals in a white jacket, even in the middle of Wyoming wilderness. There were celebrations too. One Washington’s Birthday, the engineers were given a two-day break and partied in Shoshoni like railroad kings.

But the good times didn’t last long. This was dangerous work.

Accidents were common. Flooding, fires, and rockslides were a daily threat. At least 27 men were buried near the north end of the canyon. There were temporary cemeteries and makeshift hospitals at both ends. Once, five men in bosun’s chairs were pulled up a cliff face to plant dynamite. The entire rock face broke loose. Four never made it down alive.

And if that wasn’t enough? They had to deal with Boysen Dam.

Asmus Boysen had built a hydroelectric dam near the canyon’s south entrance, just before the railroad survey began. It flooded the original track line, forcing engineers to relocate—and to dig even higher into the canyon walls.

Six tunnels had to be blasted through the hardest granite imaginable. One tunnel was 742 feet long. They named them the Black Tunnel, Twin Tunnels, and the Pink Tunnel. You can still see the scars today, wooden props lining the interiors like century-old ribs.

Then came the track laying. They called the lead car the Pioneer Car. It carried ties and steel. A mile of track was laid each day. It took a 10-hour shift, sometimes more. The rail-laying crews had it down to a rhythm: two trips a day, all the way from Thermopolis and back. No matter the weather. Rain, snow, or blistering sun.

When the last spike was driven and the line crawled out of the south canyon in 1911, there was no immediate train service. Not until October 13, 1913, did the first passenger train chug through the canyon. It must have felt like a thunderclap of progress.

And it was.

That railroad connected the Big Horn Basin to the rest of the state—and the nation. It opened the region to agriculture, commerce, and tourism. Livestock, sugar beets, and oil could now move swiftly out. Travelers came to marvel at the canyon, its granite cathedrals and eagle-spun skies.

For years, there was even a scheduled stop in the canyon where passengers disembarked just to take it all in. I like to think Harry Schafer—by then a conductor—watched them with quiet satisfaction, knowing what it took to build that view.

Today, the trains that rumble through Wind River Canyon haul freight, not people. But the highway on the east bank, opened a decade after the railroad, continues to carry travelers hungry for beauty and history.

And if you’re ever driving through, look closely. You might catch a glimpse of an old tunnel, a collapsed bridge footing, or just the glint of iron rail through the trees. That’s the ghost of the builders who carved a railroad into the bones of Wyoming.

So the next time someone says "they don’t make ‘em like they used to," you can nod and tell them about Wind River Canyon. About the pickaxes, the burros, the bosun’s chairs. About the men who gave their lives to blast a railway through impossible rock—and into history.

Thanks for joining me on Pioneers of Outlaw Country. I’m Jackie Dorothy. Keep your boots dusty, your stories wild, and remember: every backroad has a tale.

This episode of Pioneers of Outlaw Country celebrating the Wind River Canyon Scenic By-Way was brought to you by the Wyoming Department of Transportation and their Buckle Up campaign! 

Seat belt safety starts with you!

No matter what type of vehicle you drive, one of the safest choices drivers and passengers can make is to buckle up.

Seat belt safety starts with you.  Your kids are watching. Children whose parents or caregivers buckle up are much more likely to buckle up, too.

Wyoming has vast, wide open spaces, and long drives. Please buckle up, every trip, every ride, every time.

This was a production of Legend Rock Media!