The Tongue River Tie Flume in the Big Horn Mountains

In August 1899, a forest fire turned a thriving railroad tie camp high in the Bighorn Mountains into a desperate fight for survival.

The blaze swept toward the Woodrock tie camp near the headwaters of the Tongue River during one of the driest summers anyone could remember. Operated by the McShane Company, the camp sat deep in the timber where thousands of lodgepole pines were being harvested every summer to supply the rapidly expanding railroads of the American West. Trees were felled by hand, hauled to the sawmill and cut into railroad ties.

The river was dammed to create a large mill pond where thousands of finished ties floated in storage. When water levels were favorable, the ties began a remarkable 24-mile journey to Dayton. Released into a system of wooden flumes clinging to canyon walls and winding through the mountains, they raced downhill on a swift and often dangerous ride toward the railroad below.

On that day in August, for the people at Woodrock, thoughts of railroad ties had given way to a far more urgent concern: survival. A fire had been creeping toward the camp for several days, but when winds reached 60 miles per hour, camp leaders put their emergency escape plan into action.

About 25 women and children fled by canoe down the flume itself.  Canoes had been built specifically for such emergencies, although tie hacks and loggers occasionally used them when they wanted a quicker trip down the mountain to the bars and women of Sheridan. The journey was anything but safe. In places, the flume clung to canyon walls nearly 300 feet above the valley floor. Burning branches and debris had already fallen onto the structure, and one section had been damaged by the advancing fire.

As the women and children raced several miles downstream to safety, the men stayed behind to save whatever they could. Clothing, tools, cooking equipment, and other valuables were hastily tossed into the nearby mill pond for protection. Under normal circumstances, the pond served as a place to bathe, where children played and camp residents drew their drinking water. On that day, however, it became a makeshift vault, holding anything the men hoped to spare from the approaching flames. 

The same pines that made excellent railroad ties also made excellent fuel. Witnesses later described flames racing through the forest so quickly that trees seemed to explode one after another like giant matchsticks.

The men soon realized the battle was hopeless. Their last refuge was the mill pond itself.The men spent the night standing in water barely above freezing. The heat was so intense that raising their heads too far above the surface became almost unbearable. Smoke rolled across the pond while sparks and embers rained down around them.

Remarkably, everyone survived the fire itself, although one man later died from pneumonia brought on by smoke inhalation and a night spent in the icy water.

By morning, little remained of their lumber camp. Nearly the entire camp had been destroyed. Only two cabins and the schoolhouse escaped the flames.

The operation had been established just four years earlier as part of a massive effort to feed the nation’s growing rail network. Yet on one terrifying night in 1899, the mountain that provided the camp’s livelihood nearly became its grave.

Although Woodrock was destroyed, the value of railroad ties was too great to abandon. New camps soon sprang up across the Bighorn Mountains, connected to the Tongue River Tie Flume by an impressive network of early 20th-century engineering. 

The demand continued as railroads were linking farms, mines, and towns throughout the West, and before the last Bighorn tie camp closed in 1913, an estimated two million railroad ties had made the wild ride down the Tongue River Tie Flume. 

By 1913, those with vision saw the need for a vast railroad network diminishing as Henry Ford and others were mass producing nearly a million cars a year. 

Today, most of us have only experienced a log flume ride at an amusement park, floating lazily down a man-made channel before a dramatic splash at the end.

Those modern rides bear little resemblance to the remarkable V-shaped flumes that once carried railroad ties from the high forests of the Bighorn Mountains. Anyone who has hiked through the impossibly steep Tongue River Canyon quickly realizes that a simple chute running straight downhill could never have worked. Gravity would have accelerated the ties to destructive speeds. Instead, engineers designed an elaborate system of switchbacks, trestles, curves, and crossings to slow the flow of water and keep the ties moving safely without piling up or breaking apart.

Like many great engineering projects, however, the flume was eventually abandoned when its purpose had been fulfilled. Left to the forest, it slowly faded from use. For more than a century, snow, wind, floods, and time have reclaimed much of the structure, leaving only scattered remnants to remind visitors of one of the most ambitious logging operations in Wyoming history.

The last century has not been kind to the flume, but several sections can still be found by determined hikers. These weathered remnants offer a glimpse of the immense scale of the project and the ingenuity required to build it. Standing beside the surviving trestles, grades, and flume beds, it is easy to imagine the millions of railroad ties that once raced through the mountains on their journey to the railroads of the American West. 

If you would like to explore the remains of the Tongue River Tie Flume for yourself, search for “Tie Flume Trail 424” in Google Maps. From Greybull it is 45 miles. Head east up Shell Canyon on U.S. Highway 14. Pack a picnic and take your time. The drive climbs through some of the most scenic country in the Bighorn Mountains, reaching elevations approaching 8,000 feet.

Stop at the Old Shell Store for a cinnamon roll, a cold drink, or any last-minute supplies. From there, continue about 27 miles up the mountain and watch for the sign directing visitors to the Tie Flume Campground on Forest Service Road 26. Drive past the campground for approximately one mile. Shortly after crossing a bridge, look for a small dirt pull out on the left side of the road.

That bridge marks the approximate location of the old dam, and the broad grassy flat nearby once served as the mill pond where railroad ties were gathered before beginning their journey down the flume.

From the pullout, walk along the river heading north. Within a few hundred yards, scattered timbers from the flume begin to emerge from the forest. Over the next couple of miles, the remains become increasingly impressive. Visitors can still find collapsed trestles, moss-covered beams, and sections where the flume once crossed the river on towering wooden structures.

There is no formal trail, and depending on water levels and vegetation, it may not be possible to follow every section. But that is part of the experience. This is not a restored attraction or a carefully curated museum exhibit. It is history slowly returning to the mountains, one season at a time.

For more information, contact the Burgess Junction Visitor Center at (307) 674-2600. Staff there can suggest additional locations where remnants of the flume can still be seen, including several sites that require a longer hike and are best suited for more ambitious explorers. 

Why It Matters

The Tongue River Tie Flume is easy to miss. There are no large signs, or crowds of people. Just weathered wood hidden among the pines.

Yet it tells a larger story about Wyoming’s past. It reminds us of a time when workers built massive projects with hand tools, horsepower and determination. They blasted through rock, bridged canyons and created a 24-mile artificial river to move timber from the mountains to the railroad.

More than a century later, you can still stand beside those timbers, run your hand across the weathered wood and imagine millions of railroad ties racing downhill toward the valley below.

Not bad for a one-tank adventure.