Date of death is approximate.
Jackson's Hole Courier
Thursday, July 3, 1941
Page 1
Heretofore Unpublished Poem By Al Austin Reveals Character
The Courier is indebted to Mrs. K. C. Allan of Moran for the following poem, written by Al Austin. The poem is contained in a book written by Mr. Austin, and presented to Mrs. Allen some years ago. It is almost prophetic in its approach to the manner in which Al Austin met his death. His body was found in a tent hidden deep in the forest on June 10 and interred in the Jackson cemetery the following Saturday:
I'll Turn My Footsteps There
By Al Austen
I love to eat and sleep near snow-capped peaks,
The Rocky Mountains grand.
I love the smell of stately pines
That tower on every hand
The streams that leap through canyons deep,
The wind's low melody.
I hear their call and love them all,
The wilds is home to me.
I love the croon, the low sweet tune,
Of the night winds thru every tree.
I love to dream in the camp fire's gleam,
Of days that used to be.
And the coyote cries to star-lit skies
Echoing on the evening air.
I hear them all as the shadows fall,
And turn my footsteps there,
Into the hills like an old bull elk,
When e'er my time is nigh.
Austin was found dead on Arizona creek by Bill Ferrin and Bud Thompson. The two men, employees of the Forest Service, had been instructed to be on the lookout for him.
His tepee, pitched two and a half miles from the Arizona ranger station, had collapsed over him from the weight of snow.
Mr. Austin was supposed to have left late in October from his cabin at Moose, bound for Montana to spend the winter with a sister. When his mail returned unclaimed from Montana points, and he did not return here at the accustomed time, friends became apprehensive of his safety.
His car, a Chevrolet coupe, was found the following week, a considerable distance from his tent, and had been well hidden.
The last entry in his diary, which had a despondent note, was made November 20 and showed that it had required considerable effort. Most of the entries said "Snow". On the 16th he entered that it had snowed for sixteen days. It is believed that he went there about the first of the month.
On occasions he had expressed a desire to die in the woods where he had spent so much of his time photographing wild game and birds which was a profound hobby with him. His collection of moving pictures, reels of the life in the forests, were rare, and many of his reels he gave to eastern concerns for educational purposes. He did not commercialize on his pictures, although they were of professional quality.
For the last year he had been in failing health.
Mr. Austin was about 70 years of age, came here 40 years ago from Arizona for his health. He had been married but lost his companion by death shortly after marriage.
Funeral services were held for him the following Saturday at the Legion hall and burial was in the Jackson cemetery.
Mr. Austin was a friendly, genial character and very cheerfully entertained people with true stories and his pictures of wildlife.
Jackson's Hole Courier
Thursday, July 3, 1941
Page 1
Heretofore Unpublished Poem By Al Austin Reveals Character
The Courier is indebted to Mrs. K. C. Allan of Moran for the following poem, written by Al Austin. The poem is contained in a book written by Mr. Austin, and presented to Mrs. Allen some years ago. It is almost prophetic in its approach to the manner in which Al Austin met his death. His body was found in a tent hidden deep in the forest on June 10 and interred in the Jackson cemetery the following Saturday:
I'll Turn My Footsteps There
By Al Austen
I love to eat and sleep near snow-capped peaks,
The Rocky Mountains grand.
I love the smell of stately pines
That tower on every hand
The streams that leap through canyons deep,
The wind's low melody.
I hear their call and love them all,
The wilds is home to me.
I love the croon, the low sweet tune,
Of the night winds thru every tree.
I love to dream in the camp fire's gleam,
Of days that used to be.
And the coyote cries to star-lit skies
Echoing on the evening air.
I hear them all as the shadows fall,
And turn my footsteps there,
Into the hills like an old bull elk,
When e'er my time is nigh.
Austin was found dead on Arizona creek by Bill Ferrin and Bud Thompson. The two men, employees of the Forest Service, had been instructed to be on the lookout for him.
His tepee, pitched two and a half miles from the Arizona ranger station, had collapsed over him from the weight of snow.
Mr. Austin was supposed to have left late in October from his cabin at Moose, bound for Montana to spend the winter with a sister. When his mail returned unclaimed from Montana points, and he did not return here at the accustomed time, friends became apprehensive of his safety.
His car, a Chevrolet coupe, was found the following week, a considerable distance from his tent, and had been well hidden.
The last entry in his diary, which had a despondent note, was made November 20 and showed that it had required considerable effort. Most of the entries said "Snow". On the 16th he entered that it had snowed for sixteen days. It is believed that he went there about the first of the month.
On occasions he had expressed a desire to die in the woods where he had spent so much of his time photographing wild game and birds which was a profound hobby with him. His collection of moving pictures, reels of the life in the forests, were rare, and many of his reels he gave to eastern concerns for educational purposes. He did not commercialize on his pictures, although they were of professional quality.
For the last year he had been in failing health.
Mr. Austin was about 70 years of age, came here 40 years ago from Arizona for his health. He had been married but lost his companion by death shortly after marriage.
Funeral services were held for him the following Saturday at the Legion hall and burial was in the Jackson cemetery.
Mr. Austin was a friendly, genial character and very cheerfully entertained people with true stories and his pictures of wildlife.
Date of death is approximate.
Jackson's Hole Courier
Thursday, July 3, 1941
Page 1
Heretofore Unpublished Poem By Al Austin Reveals Character
The Courier is indebted to Mrs. K. C. Allan of Moran for the following poem, written by Al Austin. The poem is contained in a book written by Mr. Austin, and presented to Mrs. Allen some years ago. It is almost prophetic in its approach to the manner in which Al Austin met his death. His body was found in a tent hidden deep in the forest on June 10 and interred in the Jackson cemetery the following Saturday:
I'll Turn My Footsteps There
By Al Austen
I love to eat and sleep near snow-capped peaks,
The Rocky Mountains grand.
I love the smell of stately pines
That tower on every hand
The streams that leap through canyons deep,
The wind's low melody.
I hear their call and love them all,
The wilds is home to me.
I love the croon, the low sweet tune,
Of the night winds thru every tree.
I love to dream in the camp fire's gleam,
Of days that used to be.
And the coyote cries to star-lit skies
Echoing on the evening air.
I hear them all as the shadows fall,
And turn my footsteps there,
Into the hills like an old bull elk,
When e'er my time is nigh.
Austin was found dead on Arizona creek by Bill Ferrin and Bud Thompson. The two men, employees of the Forest Service, had been instructed to be on the lookout for him.
His tepee, pitched two and a half miles from the Arizona ranger station, had collapsed over him from the weight of snow.
Mr. Austin was supposed to have left late in October from his cabin at Moose, bound for Montana to spend the winter with a sister. When his mail returned unclaimed from Montana points, and he did not return here at the accustomed time, friends became apprehensive of his safety.
His car, a Chevrolet coupe, was found the following week, a considerable distance from his tent, and had been well hidden.
The last entry in his diary, which had a despondent note, was made November 20 and showed that it had required considerable effort. Most of the entries said "Snow". On the 16th he entered that it had snowed for sixteen days. It is believed that he went there about the first of the month.
On occasions he had expressed a desire to die in the woods where he had spent so much of his time photographing wild game and birds which was a profound hobby with him. His collection of moving pictures, reels of the life in the forests, were rare, and many of his reels he gave to eastern concerns for educational purposes. He did not commercialize on his pictures, although they were of professional quality.
For the last year he had been in failing health.
Mr. Austin was about 70 years of age, came here 40 years ago from Arizona for his health. He had been married but lost his companion by death shortly after marriage.
Funeral services were held for him the following Saturday at the Legion hall and burial was in the Jackson cemetery.
Mr. Austin was a friendly, genial character and very cheerfully entertained people with true stories and his pictures of wildlife.
Jackson's Hole Courier
Thursday, July 3, 1941
Page 1
Heretofore Unpublished Poem By Al Austin Reveals Character
The Courier is indebted to Mrs. K. C. Allan of Moran for the following poem, written by Al Austin. The poem is contained in a book written by Mr. Austin, and presented to Mrs. Allen some years ago. It is almost prophetic in its approach to the manner in which Al Austin met his death. His body was found in a tent hidden deep in the forest on June 10 and interred in the Jackson cemetery the following Saturday:
I'll Turn My Footsteps There
By Al Austen
I love to eat and sleep near snow-capped peaks,
The Rocky Mountains grand.
I love the smell of stately pines
That tower on every hand
The streams that leap through canyons deep,
The wind's low melody.
I hear their call and love them all,
The wilds is home to me.
I love the croon, the low sweet tune,
Of the night winds thru every tree.
I love to dream in the camp fire's gleam,
Of days that used to be.
And the coyote cries to star-lit skies
Echoing on the evening air.
I hear them all as the shadows fall,
And turn my footsteps there,
Into the hills like an old bull elk,
When e'er my time is nigh.
Austin was found dead on Arizona creek by Bill Ferrin and Bud Thompson. The two men, employees of the Forest Service, had been instructed to be on the lookout for him.
His tepee, pitched two and a half miles from the Arizona ranger station, had collapsed over him from the weight of snow.
Mr. Austin was supposed to have left late in October from his cabin at Moose, bound for Montana to spend the winter with a sister. When his mail returned unclaimed from Montana points, and he did not return here at the accustomed time, friends became apprehensive of his safety.
His car, a Chevrolet coupe, was found the following week, a considerable distance from his tent, and had been well hidden.
The last entry in his diary, which had a despondent note, was made November 20 and showed that it had required considerable effort. Most of the entries said "Snow". On the 16th he entered that it had snowed for sixteen days. It is believed that he went there about the first of the month.
On occasions he had expressed a desire to die in the woods where he had spent so much of his time photographing wild game and birds which was a profound hobby with him. His collection of moving pictures, reels of the life in the forests, were rare, and many of his reels he gave to eastern concerns for educational purposes. He did not commercialize on his pictures, although they were of professional quality.
For the last year he had been in failing health.
Mr. Austin was about 70 years of age, came here 40 years ago from Arizona for his health. He had been married but lost his companion by death shortly after marriage.
Funeral services were held for him the following Saturday at the Legion hall and burial was in the Jackson cemetery.
Mr. Austin was a friendly, genial character and very cheerfully entertained people with true stories and his pictures of wildlife.
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