The word on the high plains of Kansas after the great blizzard of 1886 was that “January first was the last of August,” but that wasn’t entirely accurate.

The true story of August Johnson, the man who froze to death in the storm, was later recorded in “Pioneer Remembrances” by Mildred Cass Beason.

Her newspaper columns were compiled and reprinted as a collection under the same name, “Pioneer Remembrances,” by the Gove County Historical Society in 1986.

Beason’s interview with a Mr. J. W.

Hopkins mentioned August Johnson’s death while hunting with his friends D.P. Snyder and Fred Wright. Hopkins claimed that Johnson was “a Swede who had come across the ocean about six months before.”

The Hopkins interview prompted a letter from Snyder of Evans, Colo. dated Sept. 1, 1938. Snyder was with Johnson when Johnson died, and wrote to Beeson to “set the record straight.”

The blizzard struck with a vengeance, lasting for three solid days beginning the first of January, 1886. Kansas had witnessed a great influx of settlers the previous summer of 1885.

Many had thrown up precarious shacks for temporary shelter. The cruel January blizzard blew through those shacks as if there were no walls at all. Whole families were found frozen to death.

The storm abated with a glistening sun rising over the land the morning of Jan. 4. The deceptively warm sunshine brought settlers out to resupply their cupboards with groceries and check on neighbors. Some set out to hunt for wild game.

After two days of warm sunshine Johnson, Snyder and Wright loaded up Wright’s sled to hunt for game. The land seemed barren of all life as the hunters drove west. They finally came upon a herd of 15 antelope around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The herd began to run, but the team was near enough to stay close. Snyder drove the team “on the run” while Wright and Johnson kept shooting until they finally brought one down.

The men loaded their kill on the sled and turned the team for home just as they noticed a small cloud on the horizon. In a remarkably short time, the cloud brought wind and wet snow that battered them with frightening intensity.

Wright took over the lines, urging his team forward. The intense snowfall had made all landmarks indistinguishable, and within a few moments, he lost his way and turned the team back in the opposite direction.

Wright again began to doubt his whereabouts and asked Snyder if he thought he was wrong.

Snyder quickly answered yes. By that time, night had fallen.

Since they had veered away from the trail along the Smoky Hill River, Snyder jumped from the sled and ran ahead in the blinding snow to guide Wright back to the edge of the river. They then turned east once again and Snyder continued to walk ahead of the sled.

“I don’t know just how far I trailed ahead of the team till I fell head first in the end of a small canyon,” Snyder said.

Wright declared that now he knew where they were. It was one or two o’clock in the morning and Wright refused to go any further. They unhitched the team, turned the sled on its side and tied the team to the rails of the sled. A tarp that they had fortunately brought along was laid out behind the sled. The bewildered men crawled in under the tarp for a few hours of sleep.

As soon as it was light enough to see, they braved the continuing blizzard. The country was relatively new to all of them, although Snyder had hunted for several miles around the home camp. To help him find his way around in a land with few landmarks, he had driven stakes in the ground. Luckily, they happened upon a stake that marked their location as “three miles west and three miles (south) of home.”

Now they knew the way home, but when the beleaguered hunters were approximately a quarter-mile from their destination, Wright wavered. He was certain they had passed their home and could not be convinced otherwise.

Through all of the confusion and cold, Johnson had remained silent. Now, he showed signs of giving up. When he collapsed in the snow, Snyder and Wright covered him with the tarp. Confusion reigned for the longest time. Wright got under the cover with Johnson while Snyder searched for the way through the storm.

The storm finally let up around one o’clock the morning of their second night in the blizzard. When Snyder returned, he found Johnson lying in the open about four feet from the tarp. Wright had fallen asleep and allowed Johnson to slip away from the only protection he had. Johnson died a short time later a short distance away from his home camp. It was Jan. 8, 1886.

The Old West is filled with fables that originate from true incidents, ultimately growing into legend. August Johnson became one of those legends. As it turns out, January first wasn’t precisely the last of August, but if you still want to keep the legend going, you might say that 1886 was the year that January got the best of August on The Way West.

“The Cowboy” Jim Gray can be reached at 220 21st Rd., Geneseo, KS 67444, (785) 531-2058 or kansascowboy@kans. com.