Pioneers of Outlaw Country: Wyoming’s History

 Dangerous Work: Building the Yellowstone Highway 

 Blasting a road through Wyoming’s Wind River Canyon in the 1920s was like chiseling a trail into the jaws of a granite beast—complete with dynamite, sheer cliffs, and the constant threat of falling into a roaring river. It took guts, grit, and more than a few prayers to carve tunnels and hang a highway from canyon walls that soared thousands of feet above the brave souls below!

 The Pioneers of Outlaw Country. 

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

Here are their stories

Howdy folks, and welcome back to Pioneers of Outlaw Country: Wyoming History, where we dust off the trail, dig into true grit, and tell the stories that shaped the West. I’m your host, Jackie Dorothy, and today we’re going to take a ride through one of the most daring, dangerous, and downright jaw-dropping feats of engineering in early Wyoming history. 

 This episode is in partnership with the Wyoming Department of Transportation and their Buckle Up campaign. Reminding you to stay safe no matter how dangerous the roads may get! 

 It’s a story of blasting rock, battling floods, and threading a road through a canyon so tight and twisted, the river barely had room to run, let alone a Ford Model T! This, my friends, is the story of building the Wind River Canyon Highway.

Before there was a road, there was only a dream. A dream of connecting the Big Horn Basin — a rich empire of agriculture, coal, and oil — with the rest of Wyoming. But standing in the way was the Owl Creek Range, a granite wall that had isolated northwestern Wyoming like an island in the sky.

 In the early 1920s, the only way through was a rickety stagecoach trail over Birdseye Pass — 2,500 feet up, snowed in half the year, and not exactly what you'd call smooth sailing. So when engineers and visionaries looked south and saw the Wind River Canyon, they saw a way through. But building a highway there? That was like laying tracks on the back of a rattlesnake.

In 1920, the state took its first real steps toward making the canyon highway a reality. Preliminary surveys began — in the dead of winter. With the mercury dipping to 30 below, crews used the frozen river to access the narrow canyon walls. It was risky business. The engineers knew what they were in for, but the promise of a year-round connection through the canyon was too good to pass up.

 Fred Holdrege and Arthur K. Lee pushed three bills through the legislature to make it possible. Finally, in 1922, Utah Construction Company won the contract. The projected cost was $401,582. What it would actually cost? Well... that came later.

They called it Project No. 38. It was 21 miles long, blasted through solid black diorite, one of the hardest granites known to man. They needed three tunnels, 832 feet total, just to snake the road along the riverbank. They used five steam shovels, 450 workers, teams of horses, and even bucket trams to ferry materials across the river from the railroad.

 And it was dangerous. There were slides. Blasting accidents. Floods. One man vanished off a cliff moving horses between camps. His body wasn’t found for four days. Another was caught in a premature dynamite blast.

 When it rained, the river rose. In 1923, floods washed out railroad bridges and construction camps. The tents where workers slept were soaked, supplies were lost, and bridges had to be rebuilt. Still, the men carried on.

But why all this risk? Why spend what would become over $700,000 — nearly double the projected cost — to carve a road through this perilous canyon?

 Because the Big Horn Basin was cut off. With no dependable highway, commerce was stunted. Tourists couldn’t get in. Farmers struggled to get their crops out. Oil and gas from the region stayed stuck in barrels instead of booming in markets.

 Wind River Canyon was the key to unlocking the gates. It was a road to Yellowstone. A road to trade. A road to prosperity.

 In January 1924, just two years after the work began, the road opened — on Sundays only at first. Twenty-one cars rolled through the canyon, led by state dignitaries, engineers, and boosters. They marveled at the smooth 20-foot-wide gravel surface, no grade steeper than 6 percent, and a view so thrilling it made even deputy sheriffs poetic.

 Fred Patee of the Casper Star-Tribune quoted one traveler saying:

 "Old women will faint and drop to the bottom of the car when they see those tunnels!"

 He was joking, of course, but the awe was real. Imagine driving out of a tunnel and suddenly finding yourself hundreds of feet above a roaring river, hanging on a shelf carved into granite, with 10,000 feet of mountain stacked above you. That’s not just a road trip. That’s a thrill ride.

 And for all the drama, it was safe. No traffic jams, no risk of falling in. As one publicist put it, "You dash out of tunnels of solid rock onto a granite shelf several hundred feet above the roaring river, hanging there by the eyebrow."

The grand dedication came in July 1924. There were rodeos, ballgames, boxing matches, and a parade through the canyon. A bottle of mineral springs water from Thermopolis was smashed against a boulder. A bronze plaque was placed near Boysen Dam to mark the achievement.

 Even Fox Pictures sent cameras to film it all.

It was Wyoming's victory lap.

But not everyone celebrated. Utah Construction lost a fortune. Rumors swirled of lawsuits and accusations. The final cost ballooned to $1 million. But the road was there. And it was beautiful.

And this road wasn't just an engineering marvel. It transformed life in the Big Horn Basin.

Before, farmers had to brave Birdseye Pass or wait out the snow. Now they could get crops to market year-round. Tourists on their way to Yellowstone discovered the mineral hot springs of Thermopolis. Commerce flourished. The towns of Thermopolis and Shoshoni became connected in a real way.

In time, the road was upgraded. Gravel gave way to oil in 1934. In the 1940s, it was rerouted to make way for the Boysen Dam. In 1961, five more miles were improved at a cost higher than the entire canyon road of the '20s.

Wind River Canyon resident, Bonnie White, remembered when the road was little more than a muddy path, barely wide enough for one Model T. If you met someone coming the other way, someone had to back up to a wide spot. Her family used to play on the road. That’s how empty it was.

Today, the Wind River Canyon is one of the most spectacular drives in the West. Waterfalls still tumble from the cliffs. Eagles soar overhead. Rock formations rise like castles. The road twists and turns with the river, now tamed, now wild. And every driver, whether they know it or not, is tracing the path carved by 450 men, five steam shovels, a lot of dynamite, and a dream.

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t cheap. And it sure wasn’t safe.

But it opened the Big Horn Basin to the world.

And that, my friends, is the spirit of outlaw country.

Thanks for riding along on Pioneers of Outlaw Country: Wyoming History. I’m Jackie Dorothy, reminding you that behind every highway, every canyon, and every small town in Wyoming, there’s a story worth telling.

See you down the road.

Buckle Up the Right Way!

Always place the shoulder belt across the middle of your chest and away from your neck, and place the lap belt across your hips, not your stomach. You should never put the shoulder belt behind your back or under your arm. And remember: always buckle up.

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.