In the summer of 1978, my parents were eager to test out their gigantic, new RV with their five children (they would eventually add one more child to the family in 1980).
Our trip stretched between Texas and Canada with stops to see relatives and national parks in New Mexico, Utah and Wyoming. The first leg of the trip culminated at an uncle’s house near Raymond, Alberta, Canada and included a trip to Waterton Lakes National Park.
Along the way, we entertained ourselves by playing endless rounds of Old Maid and Go Fish and collecting souvenirs at gas stations and the gift shops in parks. My mother collected spoons from her travels which she placed in a brown, wood spoon display rack in her kitchen. I am pretty sure the spoons are still there today.
My sister collected patches that my mom then sewed onto a jacket, which she also likely still has. I believe I may have also collected patches, but my sister assures me that I was not cool enough for that.
Additionally, we collected mini A&W root beer mugs and postcards. Back in those days, it was common to mail your friends postcards on your travels, updating them in much the same way people update social media today, and there was one postcard– an actual photograph of an American jackalope– that was available in about every gas station and gift shop along our route.
This creature both thrilled and terrified me and had I actually been in grade school at the time, I might have realized that the photo was a trick of taxidermy. But rabbits can be very still animals, so it was not completely out of the realm of possibilities that this could be real, photographic evidence of the existence of jackalopes. Reality TV shows have been created from less.
I never forgot the jackalope, and I am pretty sure my family was entertained enough to not set me straight about them. That job was left for the internet to handle years later.
In truth, the jackalope is a mythical creature that was made popular in the 1930s when Wyoming resident, Douglas Herrick (1920-2003) and his brother– who had studied taxidermy by mail–began fusing deer antlers onto rabbit carcasses to make and sell the mysterious jackalopes. According to Wickipedia, the first jackalope the Herricks sold garnered $10 and was displayed at the Douglas’ La Bonte Hotel. That jackalope was later stolen in 1977 (not by me).
The idea of horned rabbits has apparently been around for centuries and was later explained to be a symptom of rabbits afflicted with Shope papilloma virus which causes horn-like tumors to grow on their bodies.
Bob Petley (1912-2006) of Arizona, also known as the “King of Postcards,” actually created the famous jackalope postcard that I purchased on my trip west. He produced it by photographing a taxidermied jackalope he had obtained in a Phoenix novelty store against the Papago Buttes.
Years later, I would be taken on my first snipe hunt and would find out about other mythical creatures like Bigfoot through a book I purchased at a Scholastic book fair, but the jackalope really had the cool vibes that neither snipes nor Bigfoot could muster.
It was likely the setting in which I found the jackalope that contributed to its coolness factor. The jackalope was introduced to me in the midst of the first great adventure of my life in the gorgeous deserts and mountains of the American west.
Also its name, a portmanteau of jackrabbit and antelope, is just too funny to forget. Walk up to anyone born before 1980 and say “jackelope” and see if you don’t also get a laugh.
I have made many, many road trips through the west since then with my own children and we have purchased enough western-themed merch memorializing every amazing aspect of this stretch of land to clothe and entertain us for eternity, and I hope to travel there many more times and buy even more unnecessary paraphernalia for future grandchildren.
Because a childhood exposed to the grandeur of nature alongside the thrill of obtaining small mementos and accented with a few, scary monsters that might pop around the corner is the best childhood of all.
