Day 8 - Massacre Rock to Montplier, Idaho

See the pictures here

I got up this morning as the birds in the Massacre Rock campground were furiously chirping at one another.  Much the same as when I went to bed last night with more stars that I have seen in a lifetime. The sky was clear, the weather was cold, the elevation was about 6000 ft., and the birds were still chirping as I fell asleep.  They either started again at 0500, or they were chirping all night as I was sound asleep. I got up and wandered around for a while until we finally had breakfast.

The Massacre campground is at a sight of one of the many Native American vs. immigrant skirmishes that were fought in this part of the country beginning in the mid 1850s and peaking around 1862 as the migration died down.  I think that at the Massacre Rock skirmish ten travelers were killed in skirmishes that took place on August 9 – 10, 1862. A trail leads from the campground site, under the divided IS86 freeway to a short section of the Old Oregon Trail where wheel ruts are still plainly visible – at least visible now that my eye is more-practiced in recognizing a rut when I see one.

It is very interesting to stand looking one direction at wheel ruts made 150 years ago by people traveling from the east to the west and then turning around and watching cars and trucks whiz by at breakneck speed on the freeway (75 mph speed limit for cars in Idaho).  Do the drivers of those vehicles who glance over and glimpse two guys standing on the hillside know that they are thinking about oxen pulling wagons one step at a time up the steep hillside at a speed which rarely would exceed 3 miles per hour.  (Jesse Applegate was ecstatic when one day on this trail his wagons made 25 miles by traveling from 0700 – 1700, with a lunch break).

I was thinking about the life on the wagon train – getting up in the morning and scrounging for a little sagebrush for a fire - as a truckload of logs went by on the freeway.  Then I thought of the men greasing the wagon wheels with animal fat or tree pitch as a truck carrying lubricants and fuel for construction equipment sped by.  Other truck carrying products that would have been needed by the people on the trail as much as we need them today – food, clothing, shoes, household goods, tools, construction materials and more sped by on both directions as we stood on the hillside and I thought of pictures we have seen at some the rest stops depicting children with no shoes, women wearing the one dress still wearable after 4 months walking across the dusty land and men trying to coax a few more steps out of their tired and starving oxen.  It sure is a lot easier to got to Target and get everything we need in an hour.

As we walk back along the trail to the camp we see a dilapidated cabin on the side of the cliff across the Snake River.  Joe Winter lived in that cabin for 30 years.  Everyday he would walk to the top of the bluff – probably 200 feet of a near vertical cliff along a slightly visible path with numerous switchbacks, and keep an eye out for fires on the surrounding land.  Joe died several years ago – his cabin remaining as a testament to a man that had a mission and stuck to it.

We left Massacre Rock and went to register Rock located right across the IS86 freeway.  This rock was autographed by dozens or more travelers on their way to California.  Much of the writing, carved into the stone then filled in with axle grease, is still visible.  Register rock is in a pit surrounded by a chain link fence.  That reminded me of a vacation several years ago to Plymouth, Massachusetts.  We visited Plymouth Rock, located in a pit surrounded by a short wooden fence.  It was not a huge monument, maybe 1/5 the size of Register Rock, but it has its own historical significance.  In Plymouth we read in the paper the next morning that overnight the rock had been vandalized – apparently not all share my interest in history, or understand the cultural significance of Plymouth Rock.  I wondered if the fence at Register Rock was installed after him Plymouth Rock incident.

Our next stop was a pace we had driven past the day before on Yale Road as we travelled from our lunch at Rock Creek General Store (We ate there because the store at the Rock Creek Stagecoach Station had gone out of business about 100 years ago.)  This place on the trail is called the Parting of the Ways: Wagon trains or individuals who wanted to go to California turned south while those who wanted o continue to Oregon went along the Snake River.  The marker was a small monument to a momentous decision for the travelers.  The people going to California may have known – should have known – of the dangers. After all, the Donner Party had already had their difficulties, but after 1849 gold fever got the better of reasoned judgment, so they set out on what was often an ill-fated trip across the desert.

After taking a few photos we hit the road again headed for American Falls, Idaho.  The city is near the original route of the Oregon Trail – the actual route being under the lake created by a dam on the American River.  We continued through American Falls and finally located a brew pub – The Portneuf Area Brewing Company – named after the Portneuf River. We had an excellent lunch to some good Western by Reckless Kelly. Named by French y we came to a Trappers prior to 1821 the Portneuf River is a tributary to the Snake and drains the Snake River Plain.  It is the route of the California and Oregon Trails until they split at the parting of the Ways.

As the road climbed out of the Portneuf River valley, his was a  came to Lava Hot Springs. Traditionally, this was a gathering spot and for the Native Americans in the area, and along the Oregon Trail was a favorite stopping spot for weary travelers.  The water flowing from the hot springs reached different temperatures as it gurgled downstream so bathers could find the spot that suited their preference. The hot springs now have been improved from their natural state to a more spa-like atmosphere, but I noticed that this did not deter the Native Americans from from enjoying in much the same way their ancestors probably have for centuries. At the other end of the pool some travelers were doing the same thing.

The valley drained by the Portneuf River is a fantastic sight from the top of the hill leading down to the valley.  At this point is a marker for the Hudspeth cut-off – an allegedly shorter route to California than the route that followed the Snake River up to The Parting of the Ways.  The route was not as easy as Hudspeth had promised and was only s slight bit shorter.  But, once again, Gold fever won the day and many gold seekers took the Hudspeth cut-off.

At the foot of the hills a straight road runs nearly 6 miles through an immense span of green fields. I don’t know what the crop is, sugar beets perhaps, but the all were recently planted so the valley looks like an immense, 5000 hole golf course. Or maybe an 18 hole course for the Jolly Green Giant.

We traveled down the mountain, along that road, and ultimately reached the town of Montpelier about 5:30 PM.  The ( or a ) National Oregon/California Trail Visitors Center is located in Montpelier.  There is a covered wagon outside, and what is called a “native American conical structure,” but to me looks exactly like a teepee, adjacent to the wagon.  But the Center closed at 5. Just as we were about to drive on a women, dressed in her finest covered wagon finery, came out and we asked her if there was a camping area close by. She pointed us to a campground a few miles away where we have holed up for them night and will return to visit the Center tomorrow before continuing east.