Scottsbluff and Scotts Bluff-TRIP 3

COLD! And they weren't kidding. At 8:30 a.m. the thermometer read 22 degrees, and a hard frost coated everything in spite of the bright morning sun. Little Red, covered in ice, started immediately, but before Andy turned the key, I held my breath. "This will take care of all the flies and grasshoppers," he said.

Below the dam, trees outline Lake Ogallala
with beautiful colors.

Wisps of steam lifted gently from the surface of Lake McConaughy. "Time to put the boats away," said Andy. There weren't any boats, but there weren't any people either, only a couple Sheriff cars patrolling the far parking lot. A freight train came through, pulling hopper after hopper filled to the brim with coal. "That's coming from Wyoming," said Andy, "so it will be bituminous. It's probably going to St. Louis, maybe even to be shipped to China. China burns lots of dirty coal."

Lake effect snow lines the southern rim of Lake
McConaughy after the sudden drop in temperatures of
yesterday and hard freeze of last night. 

The north shore of Lake McConaughy had no snow, so wind blowing out of the north created lake effect snow on the south side where we had stayed the night. We could still see the entire south rim blanketed in white. It didn't make the 22 degrees feel much warmer though.
We took pictures from Cedar Vue on the north end, hoping to capture the beautiful blue of the lake, the striking white of the snow-covered hills and the greens and yellows of changing trees.  But there were lots of dead sticks and spindly trunks uncovered in the dryness, and only a few trailer courts suggested this area was rural and not exclusive at all.

Andy climbs part way up Courthouse
Rock along a muddy path.

Outside of Bridgeport, Nebraska, Courthouse Rock and Jail Rock were landmarks along the Oregon Trail. The dirt road was packed down from last night's snow, so dust was no problem, but climbing part way up Courthouse Rock we realized the fragility of these natural wonders.
"This isn't even stone," I said, stepping carefully along the dirt trail to avoid potentially slippery snow patches.
"No," said Andy. "It's more like packed clay."

Sue poses part way up Courthouse Rock.

"Either they get almost no rain or the top must be cap rock or both," I said. "It's a wonder these landmarks could have survived at all."
"And we have it all to ourselves," he answered, "and it's spotlessly clean."

Courthouse Rock and Jail Rock serve
as landmarks for pioneers of all times.

On our way out to the "rock" outcroppings, the temperatures in Bridgeport, Nebraska, had said 37 degrees and 44 degrees.  On the way back a half hour later they said 47 degrees and 50 degrees. Amazing what the Prairie sun can do before noon and the contrast to the 22 degrees of Ogallala this morning!

Only the local cows can get close to Chimney Rock now.

The FFA in Bridgeport advertised an auction and a $5 a plate dinner on a glass storefront downtown. The blue and yellow attracted my attention immediately, but we won't be in town on October 16.
Chimney Rock was the most dominant landmark on the Oregon Trail. "I read that thousands and thousands of initials were carved into its soft surface, pioneers and gold seekers headed West," said Andy. "But over time everything has washed away."

Antlers mark a pioneer grave.

In the cemetery, old mingled with new. One headstone said, 1851, "Tell John I died with my face turned toward Zion." Another was piled with sunflowers and white roses from yesterday. The cold wind swept from the north, probably 15 m.p.h. gusts.  Chimney Rock had stood the test of its fury. Now protected from travelers who might get too close and be tempted to leave a mark, Chimney Rock still stands out again the western sky--certainly not immutable but nevertheless formidable.

Little is known about the Ribidoux Trading Post except that
it must have been a welcome sign of civilization for travelers.

And in the center of the cemetery was the January 2009 burial site of a 22-year old who belonged to The Country Singers and had earned his FFA American Degree .  And nearby were the graves of his mother, March 2009, and father, October 2010, set off by the ageless pillar of Chimney Rock that points heavenward.
We stopped long enough to count the cars of the passing coal train--126 plus three engines. "And that's the eighth one since we left Ogallala this morning," said Andy.
For 25 miles we followed the Ribidoux Road and the Carter Canyon Road to the site of an old trading post. Here the five Ribidoux Brothers operated a thriving trade with the Plains Indians after their father Antoine built the post in 1851 from hand-hewn logs.

Beautiful bluffs highlight the landscape
of western Nebraska.

Plains Indians brought their wares here for trade in exchange for eastern goods, and the brothers trapped.  Little else is known about the trading post that was one of the first signs of civilization for immigrants traveling West on the Oregon Trail after weeks of nothing but prairie land.

The inland lighthouse serves as a visitor observation point.

We checked into the motel and then headed back out to explore around Scottsbluff.  North of the city at Lake Minatare stood a 55-foot stone lighthouse. One of the most popular scenic recreation areas in western Nebraska, the 2,180-acre lake was originally built for irrigation storage. The lighthouse, one of only seven inland lighthouses in the U.S., was constructed for viewing.  This state recreation area is especially known for its fishing.

With the cold, few people visited the state recreation area
at Nebraska's Lake Minatare.

Driving across the dam we found a six-inch box turtle trying in vain to make his way either down the gravel road or over the concrete dam wall to the lake or down the concrete embankment. "How did he even get up here?" asked Andy. "He'll never survive."
We came to the rescue. Mr. Turtle road in Little Red to the far end of the dam. That park was already closed for the season, but Andy carried him about two city blocks to a grassy area near the lake. Our good deed for the day!

Andy rescues Mr. Turtle.

Western Sugar Company is located in Scottsbluff, and the employees work on Sunday. Our motel on Route #26 overlooked the plant. "But they don't give tours," I complained.
Andy picked up a stray sugar beet. "Never in a million years would I guess Nebraska grew sugar beets. Not here where it is so dry!" But the plant was chugging away, and the pile of sugar beets outside was huge. Western Sugar Company must be thriving.