We're Only Bluffing--TRIP 3 (2012)

A grey blanket of clouds covered Scottsbluff and the adjoining town of Guering this morning. We stalled, hoping it would lift just a little so we could enjoy Scotts Bluff. Little Red showed no signs of rain on the windshield, but a misty wetness enveloped us just walking from the motel to the car. "Too bad," said Andy. "We should have hiked the Bluff yesterday. They say the view from the top is spectacular."

Pillars of limestone are preserved by their caprock tops
along the trail down Scotts Bluff.

Cap rock of limestone concretions in isolated patches near the surface happened to be more durable than the surrounding material and kept some protrusions from washing away in the ten-million-year geological timeline.  Gradually the immense sandstone and siltstone formation is disappearing. Today air masses heading eastward from the Pacific hit the Rockies as they rise. The moisture condenses on the western slopes. Instead of moisture here, the winds travel unchecked across the Plains.  Emigrants used Scotts Bluff as their first sign of the prairie and timed their overland journeys with the emergence of the short and mid-length grass in order to have feed for livestock and still make it through the Rockies before winter.
Today felt like winter. It was 37 degrees when we started out. Trees in the Scotts Bluff National Monument have not turned much yet, but most of the trees here are juniper and cedar, so color won't change much  anyway. Dry grass predominates, and almost nothing grows on the soft crumbling rock formations.
Scotts Bluff is like a sentinel on the Plains, marking a prairie pathway for at least 10,000 years. It led ancient peoples to places on the river where bison herds stopped to drink.  Eight hundred feet above the valley floor, it earned the Indian name Me-a-pa-te, "hill that is hard to go around."
The first whites who happened on this North Platte route were seven fur company employees on their way back East from the Pacific on Christmas Day 1812.  Legend says Hiram Scott gave the bluff its name when he died here in 1828. The clerk from Rocky Mountain Fur Company is said to have been severely wounded by Indians and then left alone at the foot of Scotts Bluff by the two companions who were supposed to get him back to civilization. No one really knows the true story.
The original 200-mile route west by-passed Scotts Bluff because of the rugged topography around the North Platte River.  But after 1850, travelers followed the Oregon Trail through Mitchell Pass, which shortened their travel by eight miles, almost a full day's journey. The California Trail and Pony Express also came through Mitchell Pass.
Between 1841 and 1869, some 350,000 people joined wagon trains heading West past Scotts Bluff. Many jettisoned belongings before they reached this point, and one traveler noted that no trail map was needed because of the dead animals along both sides. Just the smell was enough to show the way.
In the early 1860's emigrants shared the Oregon Trail with mail and freight carriers, stage coaches and Pony Express riders. Bullwhackers brought provisions to Fort Laramie in the 1840's and 1850's by driving wagon trains through Mitchell Pass. The Pony Express followed The Oregon Trail through Mitchell Pass and then the California Trail after it left Scotts Bluff. Even though the colorful riders carried mail for only about a year in 1860-1861, Mark Twain witnessed a rider come through Scotts Bluff and wrote about it in Roughing It. And now, as we walked over the same terrain, we were witnessing history too. How cool is that!
By 1867, a coast-to-coast telegraph string through Mitchell Pass replaced the Pony Express.

Mormons used a hand-
cart pulled by a man to
haul up to 300 pounds.

In 1869, the Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads linked up at Promontory, Utah.  The Oregon Trail quickly fell into disuse as a transcontinental throughway.  It was obsolete.
Andy and I checked in at the Visitor Center to watch the video and read the displays in the museum. Clouds still dominated everywhere.
We learned that four pioneer travelers died per mile from St. Joseph, Missouri to Fort Laramie. That entailed a trip of about 600 miles, or about a third of the journey overland. Most died of cholera from drinking bad water. We also read that one traveler suggested buying only a wagon and picking up all the needed supplies that everyone else abandoned. As the travel became more and more difficult and boring, the pioneers discarded all but absolute essentials.  Things they had so treasured in their Eastern lives were no longer of value on the frontier, and every unnecessary ounce weighed down the wagons and the draft animals that pulled them.
"Why don't we do the hike now," suggested Andy, "and then maybe if it clears we can drive to the top for some pictures later in the day."
"Sounds like a plan," I answered.

Oxen are the preferred beasts of burden
on the Oregon Trail since they could
haul the most with the greatest stamina.

Ranger Steve drove us to the summit in the park service suburban. "Usual rainfall here is 13 or 14 inches a year. We have had about five so far this year, so we are eight or nine inches below normal," he explained. "If we have a dry winter, then things will get really serious in the spring." He also explained that winter wheat is planted to help keep moisture in the ground surface through the winter. "This year though some farmers questioned whether to plant the wheat.  It might not germinate before the first frost because of the lack of rain. And now we have had that first frost early."A train whistle sounded in the distance. "We have 120 trains most of more than a hundred cars each that pass through Scotts Bluff per day," he told us.
A magpie scolded overhead as we looked out over the panorama beneath us. Ranger Steve said good bye, and Andy and I headed out on Saddle Rock Trail for the 1.6 miles downhill back to the base.

All the remains of the Oregon Trail is the plaque and
lots of deep ruts in the dry ground.

Pictures tell the story of our walk down. Beautiful vistas were muted by layers of grey clouds. Back at the Visitor Center half an hour later, we checked out the wagons used by pioneers: the Mormon handcart, a two-wheeled cart with posts that hauled up to 300 pounds pulled by a man; the Studebaker wagon, a small blue covered wagon with wheels of two different sizes; the Murphy wagon, initially built to haul freight on the Santa Fe Trail; and the large Conestoga wagon pulled by four to eight oxen or mules.

As skies clear on top of Scotts Bluff, the wind picks up.

"Let's follow this path. It's the Oregon Trail," said Andy, looking at the display outdoors. It explained that Mitchell Pass was a bottleneck in the Oregon Trail. Here the Oregon Trail met the California Trail and the Pony Express.  Wagons that were driving four or eight abreast on the open prairie to avoid the extreme dust had to pass through here one at a time.  We walked half a mile uphill to follow the ruts and read more about these tough, brave travelers who left everything behind for a new life on the frontier. After 600 miles of flat nondescript landscape and two months of travel, here at Scotts Bluff they found spring water, firewood and sheltered camp sites. Here, in this wilderness of unusual rock formations, they renewed their journeys and their will to go on.  Greater challenges would lie ahead. We walked out to the final rise. The Oregon Trail veered away from the North Platte River and all its small gorges and washouts toward Ribidoux Pass, eight miles to the west.

On the back side of Scotts Bluff, the Oregon Trail veers
away from the rugged North Platte River valley. 

Antoine Ribidoux didn't have a total monopoly on goods since another trapper started a trading post next door to him, but he certainly could set most of his own prices.  The display quoted one angry pioneer who complained that 50 cents to repair a wagon wheel was robbery. But he was at Ribidoux's mercy.For lunch break we drove to the top and parked Little Red overlooking the valley 800 feet below. Far in the distance a ray of sun broke through the clouds and lit up one farmer's hay field. We walked the half mile out to the South Lookout and back and then the half mile to the North Lookout and back. I pulled my scarf tighter. "There is no way it's getting up to the 50's today," said Andy. A few other hardy souls huddled near the overlooks, but for the most part, we had the Bluff to ourselves.

A herd of Bighorn Sheep repopulate
the rugged terrain of Wildcat Hills. 

Disappointed by the heavy grey overcast, we came back down to the valley floor. Ten miles away in the Wildcat Hills, 22 Audubon Bighorn Sheep had been released in 2001. We followed the country roads, then a mile of dirt roads and then hiked a half mile in. There a sign pointed to the release location far up a ravine. "It's rugged country. They should survive with protection," said Andy. The sign said that the herd, transplanted from Colorado, was surviving and doing well in Nebraska, but we never saw any evidence of Bighorns.

Blue skies add to the panoramic beauty of Scotts Bluff.

Skies cleared in the next half hour with grey giving way to broken patches of blue. We returned to the top of Scotts Bluff for some quiet meditation, walks back out to both lookouts and some decent pictures. Little by little the blue breaks spread and temperatures climbed to 49 degrees. Below, the sun highlighted yellow fields of cut hay and dried corn. The North Platte River glistened as rays penetrated the cloud layer. We had witnessed a spectacular panorama and a lot of history.