Scaling Scotts Bluff

       On October 8^th we left the Lincoln behind at Kimball, Nebraska, heading 50 miles north to  Airbnb lodgings  out in the country near Mitchell, NE.

 Planned to rest up for 3 days and get caught up on our blogging.

   As proof of how well that theory worked out, it’s January 1, 2017, half an hour into the New Year, and still no end in sight.  Been trying to write a description of one day’s travels in ever-surprising Nebraska, but there was so much material it’d have taken a week to read it.  One or two days will turn into a week's posting.

The stunning, unexpected thing upon crossing into Nebraska was bluffs.  More and more of them.  HOW COULD THERE BE BLUFFS IN A FLAT, CORN-GROWING KIND OF PLACE?  In a place that’s part of the Great Plains, no less!   [Maybe they don’t grow corn after all?]  But there were.  More bluffs than you could shake a stick at.  In fact, the nearby town of Scottsbluff has – well, lots of bluffs, too.

Since our hosts couldn’t grasp the concept of ‘we’re just going to sit around the house for a few days’ and kept asking us what our plans were, and because we had to see and understand these bluffs, and because we needed exercise, the afternoon of Sunday, October 9^th had us heading out for a modest hike, when we could no longer procrastinate any longer. 

Oddly enough, Scotts Bluff National Monument is in Gering.  The nearby town of Scottsbluff and the County of Scottsbluff prefer to write their names with no spaces in between.  Huh?  And why SCOTT’S bluff as opposed to a bluff named after any other country on the face of God’s green earth?

The life and legends of Hiram Scott – well, most versions say he fell ill [one says he was injured in an encounter with Blackfeet Indians],  and then he got abandoned by two guys who took him in their canoe for a while and then put him on land, or maybe it was a whole group of people who were fearing starvation.  Naw, it was because of foul play.  Or maybe he nobly insisted on staying behind so his comrades wouldn’t suffer the same illness or fate.  Even Washington Irving weighed in with a story on Hiram.  At any rate, there are records that a Hiram Scott was literate and held an important clerical position for the American Fur Company in 1827, but no further data.  Likely Hiram was out there participating in one of the giant annual fur trade jamborees.  He’s believed to have been traveling back to St. Louis when he died near the bluff that bears his name today.  [Find more details of various versions and theories –https://www.nps.gov/scbl/learn/historyculture/hscott.htm    ]

The namesake Scotts Bluff towers 800 feet over the North Platte River, an epic river on the trails west.  [If I ever get around to telling you more about the town of North Platte, you may join the circle of those who tear up whenever it’s mentioned.] A climb along the North Overlook Trail to the summit of the bluff that bears his name, with a plaque that also bears his name, is a most rewarding, most pleasant experience and nostalgic, honoring moment.  [By ‘climb,’ I mean drive a few miles to the parking lot at the top and ascend another 15 feet or so till you reach the viewpoint. And exercise caution, as it looks like one could go another fifteen feet or so, but the soft rock is eroding away and you'll find that next step to be a very steep one with a LOOOOOONNNNGGG drop]

 Scotts Bluff was an important landmark to those on the Mormon, California, and Oregon Trails. At the base of the bluff, the wagon ruts run through Mitchell Pass, named after Brigadier General  Robert Mitchell of the Union Army.  Several minutes of arduous internet research leave one unclear as to why the pass was named after him, since the pass had, to my understanding, already been in use for several years before he came along.  But it was.   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitchell_Pass

We couldn't see it in the old black-and-white movies, but many families preferred a colorful wagon.  "Paint your wagon, and come along," was more than fiction.

 

It's not terribly imporant to know exactly what happened to Hiram Scott, or why this pass along the Emigrant Trail was named after Robert Mitchell. But a walk literally in the footsteps of countless emigrants, in the tracks of the wagons packed to capacity and beyond,  pondering what it was like to walk across America with your babies and your animals and no toilets and frequently no water, sadly tossing out more prized items along the way to lighten the load on the oxen, and having to cook without stopping at the supermarket, and no disposable diapers nor always ready water, never sure what awaited at trail’s end …it’s a sobering experience.  And a highly recommended one.

[Oh, and as for how/why there are so many bluffs in flat Nebraska -- I figured it out.  Nebraska WAS all flat; the bluffs didn't rise from anywhere, but the rest of the land dropped low as it eroded, leaving these shapes that change with the years as the soft rocks wears away/]