The Final Crossing of the Platte

Upon our arrival in Casper, Wyoming, Tim and I set up camp on the banks of the North Platte River at River's Edge RV Resort.  I couldn't help but compare our situation with the much more primitive camps the Oregon Trail pioneers formed. 

The Platte River

As the pioneers converged here to cross the Platte River for the last time, they would be leaving behind the familiar river and facing miles of barren and inhospitable travel without water, and assaulted by relentless winds.

Crossing the Platte River by William Henry Jackson

"...bid our lov'd friend platt river a final farewell this morning after camping nearly every night on it for a month, and are again left entirely out of sight of timber, and have to make out on sage..."  Sarah Sutton, 1854

I hesitate to complain, especially in contrast to the hard lot of the pioneers, but after two very full days of travel, I was grateful we had made reservations for two nights here.  That gave us the chance to sleep in, attend worship services, restock the refrigerator and do the laundry.

Highland Park Community Church was nearby making our choice of where to attend worship services easy.  This church reminded us of Tim's home church, Willow Creek Community Church, in Chicago.  The praise band and the pastor's message were geared to appeal to those who are seeking to understand God's place in their lives.  Pastor Mike Fackler was leading a series of sermons called "At the Movies."  He used clips from the movie, Hacksaw Ridge, to talk about how a believer's deeply-held convictions could influence those around him, a call to forsake blending in with the mainstream.  I left thinking that too often I've been trying to please people by not offending them with my beliefs instead of living my life before an audience of one, that is, God.  I vowed to do better.

We drove by Fort Casper, but didn't stop.  A devilish windstorm had blown into the city that made us reluctant to leave the car.  Besides, after seeing Fort Laramie, in our opinion, this post was underwhelming.

Bottom photo shows the museum's scope:
The Oregon Trail, the California Trail, The Mormon Trail and the Pony Express

However, Casper's National Historic Trails Interpretive Center received five stars from us.  First of all, it was free.  Second, the interactive exhibits were designed to appeal to all ages by pulling you into the action of the Oregon Trail.  We counted rotations of a handkerchief tied to wagon wheel to estimate the mileage traversed.

We road a prairie schooner wagon across a simulated raging river.

I pulled a handcart just as the Mormons bound for Zion did and boy, was it a strain on my muscles.  

Tim discovered how heavy a backpack of belongings could be.  

We climbed into a stagecoach and later another prairie schooner, a lighter wagon than a Conestoga and preferred by the pioneers.  

All of that, plus lots of information and first-person accounts of the trail's hardships, made our visit very worthwhile.

One additional place that also received a high rating from us was Edness Kimball Wilkins State Park just a mile or two from our campground.  As we walked the trails there next to the Platte River, my imagination could picture the difficulties the pioneers experienced as they crossed this swiftly flowing river. 

"Here we had a great deal of trouble swimming our cattle across, taking our wagons to pieces, unloading and replacing our traps.  A number of accidents happened here.  A lady and four children were drowned through the carelessness of those in charge of the ferry."  Sallie Hester, 1849

Quite frankly, I don't know how they did it.

Fort Laramie To Casper

"History is geography set into motion."  Johann Gottfried Herder, 18th century philosopher of history

Soldiers' barracks at Fort Laramie

On the overland highway of the Platte River, Fort Laramie was like a modern-day travel plaza, bustling with fur traders, trappers, Plains Indians, soldiers and emigrants.  There, emigrants could post their mail, repair wagons, shoe livestock and shop for necessities at the post sutler's store.  Concerned about the mountains to come, many tried to lighten their wagons by selling unnecessary items but there were few buyers.  Most simply left their goods by the side of the trail.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post about Scottsbluff, Tim and I had a full itinerary planned for Saturday, July 8th.  We wanted to travel from Scottsbluff, Nebraska to Casper, Wyoming with several stops along the way.  Chief among those was a visit to Fort Laramie, a place that perhaps more than any other fostered the white settlement of the West.

The barracks veranda of the enlisted soldiers

After six to eight weeks of travel, the enthusiasm of Oregon-bound settlers was dampened by the weary routine of the road: up before dawn, cook, clean up, repack, gather and yoke the oxen and then plod through the dust all day to set up another camp about 12 to 15 miles up the road.  Fort Laramie, 50 miles west of Scotts Bluff, Nebraska, provided a welcome break from the tedium. (NPS National Historic Trails, Auto Tour Interpretative Guide)

Inside the barracks

Robert Campbell and William Sublette, two fur trappers, built the trading post that later became Fort Laramie at the confluence of the Laramie and Platte rivers in 1834.  Sublette must have won the coin toss because they named it Fort William.  Trade between the fur trappers and the area Indians flourished until the availability of buffalo dwindled, but by then, the U.S. Army purchased the establishment for a military post to protect and re-supply the ever-increasing overland traffic.  They renamed it Fort Laramie.

Fort Laramie by William Henry Jackson

"Our camp is stationary today; part of the emigrants are shoeing their horses and oxen; others are trading at Fort Laramie and with the Indians.  Flour, sugar, coffee, tea, tobacco, powder and lead, sell readily at high prices.  In the afternoon we gave the Indians a feast, and held a long talk with them.  Each family contributed a portion of bread, meat, coffee or sugar, which being cooked, a table was set by spreading buffalo skins upon the ground, and arranging the provisions upon them.  Having filed themselves, the Indians retired, taking with them all that they were unable to eat."  Joel Palmer, 1845

Palmer's description speaks of the settlers' desire for good relations with the Indians, but as thousands of wagons passed over the trail, game was killed and driven off, depriving the Indians of subsistence. Emigrants' livestock destroyed the grass for several miles in all directions.  The trail corridor scarred the land, and remains visible over 150 years after its carving.  (NPS placard at For Laramie National Historic Site)

Upper right: Officers' Row
Lower right: Commanding Officer's Quarters

In 1851, 10,000 Northern Plains Indians gathered at the fort to meet with U.S. government representatives in the largest peace council in history.  The result was the Indian Treaty of 1851, a treaty that lasted only a few short years.  Relations between the tribes and the army deteriorated as the number of settlers swelled.  As the conflicts grew, the army launched major campaigns from Fort Laramie against the Northern Plains Indians.

Our own conflict escalated between Tim and I before we even left Fort Laramie.  I wanted to stop at Register Cliff and Guernsey Ruts, but since both are a couple miles off Highway 26, Tim was concerned that there would not be a place to park or even to turn the Dawntreader around.  Finally, he called Wyoming State Parks and learned that parking at both sites would not be a problem.  Whew!  Conflict resolved.

Register Cliffs is one of the three best-known "registers of the desert," places where Oregon Trail travelers paused to carve their names into soft limestone formations.  The other two are Independence Rock in central Wyoming and Names Hill in western Wyoming.

"This rock is covered with names.  With great difficulty I found a place to cut mine."  Sallie Hester, aged 14 in 1849

Signatures by three generations of  the Unthank family

One unusual group of names is evidence of three generations' passage, that of T. H. Unthank, dated 1850; O. N. Unthank, 1869; and O. A. Unthank, 1931.

Just a few miles beyond Register Cliff, the wagons fell into single file for a hard pull up a rock ridge. 

Thousands of iron-shod animals and wagon wheels cut deep ruts into the stone there, a place now known as the Guernsey Ruts.  I've seen wagon train ruts before, mostly those of the Santa Fe Trail as it passed through Kansas, but I've never seen such deeply defined ones.  I estimated that the ruts were three feet deep and wondered once again how the pioneers were able to navigate such terrain.

But daylight was waning for Tim and I.  We needed to press on to Casper and so we did.

The Gibraltar of Nebraska

Scotts Bluff, named for the unfortunate Hiram Scott, a Rocky Mountain Fur Company clerk whose companions abandoned him to his fate near the bluff, is also nicknamed the Gibralter of Nebraska.  

This photo of Scotts Bluff (right) was shot through a bug-splattered windshield.

That’s not surprising since the bluffs tower 800 feet over the North Platte River Valley, the “highway” that pioneers bound for Oregon traveled.  

After walking almost the length of Nebraska, the pioneers, many of whom were barefoot by this point, were undoubtedly thankful that they had made it to this milestone, a landmark that a USA Today article, published June 25, 2013, called a pioneers' version of GPS.

Knowing that we had several stops to make during this day’s segment of the Oregon Trail, Tim and I arrived at Scotts Bluff National Monument soon after the park opened at 8:00 a.m.  

We watched the National Park Service video in a room lined with watercolors painted by William Henry Jackson, the notable photographer and American West artist.  

Scotts Bluff by William Henry Jackson

In fact, the Scotts Bluff National Monument houses the largest collection of Jackson's works in the world.  

William Henry Jackson 

In 1866, after serving in the Union Army and following a lover's spat with his fiancee, Jackson headed west.  He signed on as a bullwhacker with a wagon train bound for California.  His artistic ability as a watercolorist and his knowledge of photography picked up while tinting photos in a studio in Troy, NY led him to other employment, first as a photographer for the Union Pacific Railroad and later for the United States Geological Survey.  Towards the end of his life, he turned to painting watercolors and by doing so, he documented the settlement of the West.  He died at age 99.

Tim and I hopped aboard the park's first shuttle to the top of the bluffs.

Tim in the rearview mirror
Cindy in the interior mirror
One of the tunnels straight ahead

Our shuttle driver was a loquacious, gentlemanly volunteer with a wealth of knowledge about the area which he imparted to us on the climb through three tunnels built by the Civilian Conservation Corps to the summit.

Although Chimney Rock, visible 23 miles to the east, is made of the same layers as Scotts Bluff, it lacks the limestone that serves as a cap stone for these bluffs.  But that limestone cap will not save these bluffs forever.  Just like Chimney Rock, wind and weather are chipping away at these bluffs, too.

Geodetic Marker 

Our driver could testify to that; he told us to look for the geodetic survey marker at the summit.  The marker was once flush with the surface.  Since its placement, it has eroded more than a foot.

So who knows how much longer these bluffs will last.  I'm only glad that I, like the pioneers, could visit this place.