In the fall of 1971, a college friend and I were hunting in the hills near Skin Gulch. Of course we didn't know it existed at that point. We dropped off a hillside into a draw and landed at the cabin of Polly Brinkhoff. She came out, greeted us, asked how the hunting was and completely mesmerized us with stories for the next hour or so. Gave us a tour of her cabin, said there was no electricity there, showed us some artwork, and told us her husband, Rattlesnake Jack, died there the year before. Said there was a big snowstorm and she couldn't get his body to town so she put him in a snow drift till she could get him out some days later. Good gosh we were in awe of this woman. Super nice lady. Never saw her after that encounter but when I read stories about pioneer life, independent people, and making the best of things, she naturally comes to mind.