Colt Killed Creek

(A song)

You might have noticed that I’m obsessed with Colt Killed Creek, where a desperate group of adventurers under the direction of Lewis and Clark killed and ate one of their horses.

One of the reasons I’m so obsessed with the place— I spent a day looking for it on my last bicycle trip over Lolo Pass—is the name itself. Did you notice that it’s kind of hard to say? There’s a mandatory pause between the ‘T’ in “Colt” and the ‘K’ in Killed. “Killed Colt” rolls off the tongue more easily. But they weren’t feeling easy. The hiking was laborious, up and down ridges on a trail of mud, snow, fallen trees, and slippery pine needles. They were expending calories that they could not replenish. So “Colt Killed Creek” reflected the jerky rhythm of their hunger-dazed days.

And then there was the fact that they named it after a horse. They were not sentimental people, and they didn’t live in sentimental times. I can’t imagine there was any discussion about killing a horse for food in those circumstances. But was there a tinge of respect for the colt they killed that night? The name is very specific. It wasn’t Deadhorse, like the place in Alaska. There are lots of places called Dead Horse. And Lewis and Clark had already named another place “Hungery Creek.” [sic] Colt Killed Creek stands out. The horse is individualized, and the killing is specific.

The name expresses both the desperation they felt at that moment, and a kind of honor they might have felt for their dinner that night.

Anyway, now that I’m writing songs, I’m going to try and get into that story in more depth. Here’s a draft of my first Colt Killed Creek song. ¹

Colt Killed Creek

1

John Colter, rifle in his hand

And pronghorn in his site,

Could not concentrate,

Couldn’t get his mind right

He kept thinking about tools—

They become a part of you,

A gun firm on his shoulder,

Colter’s finger on the trigger

Where is the finger?

Where is the trigger?

Can you tell them apart?

2

Is hunger an absolute?

Or does it need an object?

He’s hungry for meat.

Hungry for adventure.

Or maybe he’s just hungry.

Hunger is his sluggish mind.

It’s the boil on the captain’s ankle.

Nothing to do with the pronghorn.

One pronghorn feeds 4 men.

We need to Feed Thirty.

3

Hunger is the walking

Up and down these ridges.

Dead trees in the path.

The mud and snow

And slippery pine needles,

Feet wrapped in rags.

The rifle brings the pronghorn close.

Ther pronghorn dies.

The pronghorn dies quickly

So we can die slow.

4

This time, it’s not a pronghorn.

This time it’s not a rifle.

This time it’s a pistol.

This time it’s a colt.

He didn’t even need to aim,

Barely even had to look.

The shot the colt in the head.

The ground didn’t even shake.

A horse died quickly

So we can die slow.

A horse died quickly

So we can die slow…

1. [A historical note: We don’t know if Colter was the one to shoot the horse. And the pronghorn shooting that inspired the first verses was certainly not by Colter. I took these liberties because I wanted to play with the idea that Colter could have been something of an illiterate philosopher.]