Unraveling the Legend: Mountain Men and Their Meaning in a Modern West

By Hannah Dreesbach

“His name was Jeremiah Johnson. They say he wanted to be a mountain man. As the

story goes, he was a man of proper wit and adventurous spirit suited to the mountains…” So

begins the sweeping epic of Jeremiah Johnson, a movie that catapulted mountain men from the

pages of dusty old history books into the imaginations of millions.

Some folks have never heard of it. Some have seen it half a dozen times in as many

months. If you scroll through the reviews for Jeremiah Johnson on your favorite site, the

prevailing theme will likely be that the movie was decent. A solid turn from Robert Redford

(though the jury is out on whether his beard is scruffy enough for the part). Nice scenery (the

Utah Rockies certainly don’t disappoint). The standouts will hail the movie as exceptional, a

thoughtful contemplation on solitude and the American spirit in one of the most rugged

environments the Northwest has to offer. One of my favorite reviews left by

“hitchcockthelegend” made the lofty (and slightly tangential) claim that “The Rocky Mountains

are the marrow of the World.” Regardless of your personal feelings on the movie, there is no

denying that it has cemented itself as a classic among the other gritty westerns of and before its

time.

I grew up on these “classic” westerns. True Grit. Tombstone. Dances With Wolves. Not to

mention the slew of Clint Eastwood movies I guiltlessly devoured in my teens. I couldn’t have

been much older than eight the first time I saw Jeremiah Johnson. Even then, I was enthralled by

the legend of a lone man braving the wilderness with nothing but his wit and a Hawken rifle to

guide him. I envied the simple rules that governed his world and the colorful strangers that
entered his life—stoic Native Americans and gruff old mountain men (“blood kin to the grizzly

that bit Jim Bridger’s ass”, Will Greer’s Bear Claw Chris Lapp left quite the impression). For a

long time, I did not question these characters or how they were portrayed. Gritty marshals,

weathered cowboys, and bearded mountain men became my idols.

It doesn’t take a historian to surmise that Jeremiah Johnson is a romantic’s view of the

old west. That is, after all, part of its appeal. In the first few minutes, our protagonist is seen

throwing aside society’s trappings for the simple freedoms of life in the wilderness. He will face

a host of new trials in the pursuit of this life—harsh winters, dead horses, crazy settlers, and the

ever-present danger of various Indian tribes—but the viewer walks away with the vague

impression that facing such trials is somehow nobler than anything offered by civilization.

Released in 1972, the movie was in some ways a direct reflection of the shifting American

conscious. With the Vietnam War stumbling on despite massive protests and the Watergate

Scandal on the verge of breaking, faith in the government had been slowly dwindling. America

was on the hunt for something to believe in; tales of noble heroes carving their own paths likely

came as a satisfying salve.

Since then, the romanticism of the west has only been perpetuated by popular culture.

Mountain men and other such figures are idolized as symbols of grit and free spirit. They fended

off grizzlies with their bare hands, survived deadly cold-snaps, and outwitted countless enemies

as they ventured through the untamed wilderness. Amidst the tumultuous history of the

American fur trade, they loom larger than life. But what of the men behind the legends?
 One of the first comprehensive histories ever written on the fur trade was Hiram

Chittenden’s two-part compendium The American Fur Trade of the Far West. In it, the mountain

men (or freemen as they were then called) are described as “the most interesting and enviable

class in the mountains. Bound to no company, free to go where they pleased… they were men of

bold and adventurous spirit for none other would have the courage to follow so hazardous a

business.” However, Chittenden also marks them as “prone to all sorts of excesses”. Vain,

greedy, and inclined to spend hard-earned pay on whiskey over more practical supplies—though

some might have argued that whiskey was indeed “practical supplies”.

The real Jeremiah Johnson seems to have fit these broad tropes, based on what little is

known about him. Born in 1824 in Little York, New Jersey as John Garrison Johnston, he began

his career as a naval officer in the Mexican War. At 6’ 2”, he had a reputation for being short-

tempered and physically powerful. After striking an officer over an unknown dispute, he

deserted the navy, changed his name to Johnson, and headed northwest to Montana. Of the

course of his career, he would go on to play the part of trapper, miner, whiskey peddler, and

marshal. This, however, is where the records grow truly murky.

The most detailed accounts we have of John Johnson’s life are likely—in large part—

fabrication. Popular accounts such as Raymond Thorp and Robert Bunker’s Crow Killer suggest

he married the Swan, a Native American of the Flathead tribe who was killed a short time later

by a band of hostile Crow. Supposedly pregnant with Johnson’s child, the discovery of her

mutilated body sent him on a decades long quest for vengeance. As the myth goes, Johnson

killed over 300 Crow Indians, earning the moniker “Liver-eating” Johnson for his cannibalistic

tactics. He himself boasted of having killed more than 1,299 Crow and it was said he could kill

two Indians with a single kick.

 He was famous, however, for his own self-promotion as an Indian-killer (having openly

capitalized on it while acting in a Wild West show in 1884), and Crow historians claim that he

was actually on good terms with the tribe. Even his greatest claim to fame starts to fall apart

under scrutiny—“Liver-eating” may have been the offspring of a grisly joke during a battle with

the Sioux.

The true man likely lies somewhere amidst the muddle of Crow Killer’s fantastic tales

and Jeremiah Johnson’s idealized hero.

The danger in making romantic statements about who these legendary men were and

what they stood for is two-fold. On the one hand, we risk turning rumors into accepted facts

(after the movie, for instance, even bona fide historians began inaccurately referring to the man

as Jeremiah Johnson, rather than John Johnson). On the other hand, the very nature of

romanticizing history means that we overlook less desirable aspects of that history. Native

Americans, for instance, have long been fixtures on the silver screen, but rarely have they been

portrayed as real people with real agency. At the best, they are painted as noble figures,

knowledgeable in the ways of the land and aloof to the comings and goings of white men. At the

worst, they are cannon fodder—obstacles to be overcome as the protagonist engages with his

noble struggle for survival.

What place, if any, does the romanticized western hero hold in modern society? How is

his portrayal harmful, both in terms of maintaining historical accuracy and in terms of the

shadow he casts over other characters, such as women and Native Americans?
 The problem isn’t necessarily that these figures of legends feuded (and often killed)

Native Americans. It isn’t even simply that they are all white. The issue is that we place them on

a pedestal. We romanticize them as heroes against the bloody backdrop of our country’s

tumultuous history. We use them as symbols of fortitude, of indomitable spirit when they were

ultimately men. We speak of them as legends when they are really a subset of the many tough

and hardened souls that stepped onto the deadly stage of westward expansion. And men, whether

they be white, Native American, or otherwise are often flawed.

Some history on the Fur Trade that may or may not be included:

Depending on the source, the fur trade can be traced back as early as the mid-1500s when

early explorers searching for fabled riches of gold and silver instead stumbled upon the deep

bays and guarded tribes of North America. The first traders were largely nameless, fishermen

who decided to gamble on long voyages to profit off the fur industry. By the early 1600s,

however, famous European explorers such as Samuel de Champlain and Henry Hudson were

coming to the New World, establishing colonies and firm trade with the Iroquois and

Algonkian-speaking tribes of the American northeast. In exchange for beads, knives, hatchets

and other practical goods, the natives readily offered such riches as “corn, oysters, beans, grapes,

tobacco, pompions, pumpkins, and beaver and otter skins...”

For almost two centuries, the fur trade remained largely an industry of the northeast, run

by powerful French and British trading companies. By the early 1800s, however, the United

States government had wrested much of the control of the fur trade from European hands. As
supplies dwindled in the east, companies such as the American Fur Company fought tooth-and-

nail for trade coming out of the expanding west. Thus enter the mountain men, frontiersmen and

explorers hired by companies to gather pelts in previously unexplored reaches of the continental

U.S.

Kit Carson, John Colter, Jedediah Smith, Jim Bridger, Hugh Glass, and the man who is

now widely known as Jeremiah Johnson…

Writer’s Memo:

As I continue to develop this story, I want to delve more into the Native American point of view

and how romanticized western “heroes” often overshadow or even villainize their Native

American counterparts for the sake of maintaining an outdated narrative. Unfortunately,

historians have largely shied away from the Native American perspective on the fur trade and

mountain men. Hiram Chittenden (mentioned above as one of the first to lay down the history of

the fur trade in a single text) spoke to their influence but was also openly racist—a reflection of

the time in which he was living. I have emailed faculty in Native American Studies here at MSU

and I have also contacted Special Collections at the library in hopes that they can help shed some

light on this area. However, I am still awaiting a response from both.

I would also like to bring my own experience and reflection back into the piece, having grown up

in Montana hearing these stories (often inaccurately recounted) from the mouths of my own

parents and their friends. Any feedback on the overall flow and tone of the piece so far is

appreciated. I am attempting to treat this subject with delicacy, having simultaneously enjoyed

the stories of mountain men and recognized the problems they pose in terms of representation.
Thank you for your feedback!

Warmly,

Hannah Dreesbach