Big and Little Dominguez Canyon, Dominguez Canyon Wilderness, Grand Junction, Co.

This is the tale of two fertile valleys tucked between dark chocolate canyon walls edged with cocoa-colored scree hills.  It’s the tale of ancient Fremont culture and Ute Indians who settled these fertile valleys first, hunting the abundant wildlife and relying on the creeks for water, but also the tale of white settlers who tamed the valley for orchards and livestock.  The tale is of long-ago inhabitants and one who chose to live out his life in these valleys to the ripe age of 98, only dying recently in a little one room cabin miles away from civilization.

This is the Dominguez Canyons and Creeks, tributaries of the mighty Gunnison River. Oddly, the trail starts in present day, with a mile walk along the railroad tracks that cut through the Gunnison canyon.   As you begin to leave the tracks, a rustic old suspension bridge comes into view, creating a connection to the other side. With “Do No Enter” posted on the bridge, one is reminded that this bridge served a purpose for those who chose to live in these valleys beyond.  We will come back to that purpose shortly, but note this bridge was actually deconstructed and rebuilt here in 1935, coming much later than the earlier settlers.

A little further along the trail one comes to a modern walking bridge,  just as impressive as it’s ancient relative, this bridge invites you to cross, perhaps less in distance across the river, and more back in time.  This is your portal to a different time and place.

A further walk along the sandy trail at the base of the canyon wall, you pass campsites set aside for river rafters, but you also begin to note you are paralleling a hand dug irrigation ditch.  Someone put a lot of work into that ditch.  See, there’s a flume built to cross a drainage as well.  This was built to feed pioneering orchards downstream established in the 1890’s.  This area is known for good fruit growing climate (have you heard of Palisade Peaches?), but has now evolved into Colorado’s wine country, full of vineyards and vintners.  Here though, we have the roots of some of the first settlers to venture into orchard cultivation over one hundred years ago. 

This simple act of crossing the river required a ferry, the Trolly Ferry, built in 1895 and manned for the workers in the orchard. No remnants of the Trolly Ferry exist now, save some rock anchor points and wood fragments.  A new ferry was built by William H. Rambo (no, I am not making that name up) in 1905 for his settlement up the Little Dominguez Canyon.  We will also come back to Mr. Rambo shortly.

Further up you cross into the Dominguez Canyon Wilderness.   Ah, look, it’s a dam on Dominguez creek used to fill the orchard irrigation ditch.  A little further on is a corral where ranchers in the area penned up cattle and horses as they made their way up to pasture lands on the mesas above.  Remember that rustic bridge?  Cattle were driven across it believe it or not.  But there’s more to our bridge story a little later.

Here we meet some real-life cowboys, riding the trail for some site-seeing, but dressed the part: grizzled, chaps, cowboy hats, vest, boots, scraggly beards.  “You heading up the canyon?” the scraggliest cowboy asks us.  “Well, let me tell you about some of the secrets the locals know about even though I shouldn’t”, he revealed as his mangy dog checked us out and nipped at the horse’s tails.  We listened intently, knowing some, but not all of this information, it made the hike more exciting as we continued on our way, looking for the clues he gave us.

As we approached a mushroom-shaped rock, this is where the trail diverges, one up Big Dominguez Creek and Canyon, the other up Little Dominguez Creek and Canyon.   “Right here”, the cowboy yelled at us from ahead, pointing out an odd structure as he and his partner headed back up the trail to disappear. This looked like an ancient Indian rock structure, stacked stone under an overhanging rock, but in fact it was a rancher’s little shelter to get himself out of summer rainstorms.  The secret the cowboy told us was in fact behind the structure, nicely etched in stone, the creator of the structure had signed his work, “M.A. Wooley Built This House March the 18, 1901”.

We first head up the big creek as our original destination was Fremont People and Ute Indian petroglyphs. It took a while to get to the site, but it did not disappoint with one large “newspaper rock” full of petroglyphs and others in the surrounding area and high on the cliff walls dating from 1000 B.C. Fremont style (deer, elk, bear paws and human figures) to Ute style from 1600 to 1880, including shield figures and bison hunting.  One particular petroglyph that stood out looked like a starburst and in fact it is surmised this may be the supernova that created the Crab Nebula which was visible with the naked eye in 1054 AD for two years and had recorded Chinese sightings of it.

We could see why this was a chosen hunting grounds, nearby was the creek etching  through smooth black Uncompahgre schist, perfect for making arrowheads, with a waterfall and plunge pool below. I could just imagine the young Indian children playing in the pool.  This must have been heavenly to live here then with abundant wildlife and water.

We backtracked back to the fork to now head up the little creek, to the Rambo cabin.  Remember Mr. Rambo?  He and his family settled up this canyon with a small farm and orchard.  We were on our way to what looks like an ancient farm, but in fact was a live farm until very recently when Bill Rambo, Mr. Rambo’s son, died at age 98.  The trail was obliterated in places where trees had fallen over it and the creek had taken over, but as one progressed, it was obvious we were walking on a very crude roadway. Our cowboy friend had told us about this place, the death of Bill Rambo, and that Bill had actually had an old Volkswagen Beatle that he managed to drive back all the way to the cabin, near 4 miles from the nearest road.  How did he get across the Gunnison?  You got it; he used that old decrepit cattle bridge to get his VW bug across!  At places along the trail one could see where the Rambos built crude bridges out of timber and branches to get across the drainages.

We finally crossed a fence line which told us we were nearing Rambo’s cabin. Looking like something straight out of “Little House on the Prairie”, the cabin came into view, positioned next to a huge rock that had fallen from the cliffs above.   You could tell this was once a working ranch farm, once an orchard with other crops, but it somehow was stuck back in time.  Built in 1911 by Rambo, this little one room cabin housed his wife and their children.  They irrigated the land from the nearby creek and lived off the land.  Bill Rambo retired in 1975 and moved back into his family’s cabin.  He had to deed his land to the BLM in 1988, allowing it to be incorporated into the wilderness created in 2009 after his death in 2015 at 98.

The cabin itself, while locked, had windows you could peer into.  A shelf here, a stove there, and one lone picture of a waterfall on the wall was all that was inside.  The cabin’s outside walls were covered with old tools hanging from rusty nails.  Each tool had a purposed as did the surrounding field which was chock full of old rusty brown farm equipment dating back to the 20’s and 30’s.   Even a fairly intact wagon stood motionless in time ready to be harnessed up with horses.  A block and tackle still hangs from a nearby tree, ready to hoist up a recent kill (domestic or wild) for skinning and preparing.   We were transported back in time, when life was simpler, and everything had a practical function.

Such a rich history this area has, grounded in those that saw the beauty and the bounty that these valleys had to offer, a  rough life for sure, but a rewarding one as well for all who came to this area over the centuries.

Enjoy the pictures and as usual leave your comments and feedback below.