Day 10 - Fort Bridger to Rawlins, Wyoming

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On road from Rawlins to check out the four Oregon Trail way points that we missed yesterday.  The drive to the first way point, Independence Rock, was beautiful.  The hills are green, antelope are busy harvesting the greens, the sky is blue and the clouds are high.

We are beginning to see more evidence of the four different trails that followed the same path, at least up to the Parting of the Ways and Hastings Cut-off. Thee four groups are the people going to Oregon, , Brigham’s Young Mormon Pioneer Party headed north to Salt Lake City, the people going to California (after 1848)and, a little later on in 1860, the Pony Express.  All of these events are well memorialized along the portion of the trail that we will be following for the next several days.

As we travel north and east from Rawlins we are in the Big Sky Country that is the stuff of John Wayne movies, Louis L’Amour novels, and much Western music.  Whether or not the emigrants in 1850 were as enamored of the romance and adventure as we have become 150 years later is a good question.  There are many quotes along the trails on highway markers and in the visitor’s centers that we have visited.  There are complaints of the a tedium and boredom of the same thing day after day – up at daybreak, fixing breakfast, yoking the oxen, then walking mile after dreary mile through sagebrush and sand.  There are few trees, fewer sources for fresh water, and food for the humans and, very importantly, for the animals is hard to come by.

We stop first at Independence Rock, a significant way point along the route.  The name comes, according to legend at least, from the fact that a group of travelers stopped there of July 4 and thus the name stuck.  Rock formations such as these are visible for miles across the flat plains and serve as navigation way points for the wagon trains.  As we pulled in to the Independence Rock site we saw a group of people gathered around a covered wagon there, and a number of cars parked along the side of the parking area.  The cars bore Utah license plates, and given the fact that most of the people in the group were dressed, more or less, in 19th Century closing I surmised thy were on some king on an excursion.  Subsequently I noted a bumper sticker on one of the cars, the identified the group as a group of Mormons who were following the Mormon Trail – presumably to remember how the first Mormons came to Salt Lake.

A much smaller rock outcropping, separated from Independence Rock and a bit further east is known as Overlook Rock because one of the travelers who climbed to the top aid that you could over look the whole area from that vantage point.

Independence Rock was one of the several places along the trail where travelers would often inscribe their names on the rock to record their passage.  Some of those inscriptions are still visible, and some are of more recent vintage.  The soft sandstone is susceptible to erosion by wind, degradation by lichens, and defacement by idiots. 

After Independence Rock we headed for the visitor center in Casper, Wyoming.  As we drove up we noted a log cabin was being constructed on the site with a little help for some modern conveniences.  It would have been nice to see some of the college students on from the nearby campus pitch in and replace diesel power with muscle power.  The visitors center was, I thought, rather over the top, but their were parts that were very interesting.  Especially the parts dealing with the conflicts with the Natives in the Area.  These conflicts are becoming more prevalent, at least as the story is being told, as we move west.  Since we had recently been in Northeast Oregon, the traditional home of the Nez Perce, I was interested in the story of their banishment to Oklahoma by General Sherman. Like many of these conflicts there are two sides to every story, and people with various points of view are found on both sides of the story.

It seems that the story is repeated over and over: The Army and settlers in the area in which they came into contact with Native Americans try to reach accommodation with the natives, whether it be to pass through the area on their way to Oregon or California, of whether they plan to try to settle in the area.  On the other side, some of the Native Americans are cordial to the people passing through and tolerant, perhaps with resignation to the inevitable, of the newcomers.  Of course, in the course of tens of thousands of people passing through there are confrontations that are not always resolved peacefully.  When that happens there is retribution and revenge.  Neither the Natives nor the the newcomers are innocent in this process.

From the visitor center we continue our journey and spend the night in a campground at Glendo reservoir, a area being developed along the Platte River in Eastern Wyoming.  There are many boats pulling into the area for the weekend as we arrive on Friday night.  We find a camping spot and have a light supper.  The weather is a little questionable and I  wake up about 4:30 amidst a pretty loud windstorm and a light rain.  The wind roars through the trees and it sounded like a deluge was approaching. I hunker down in my sleeping bag for as long as I can stand it, then I gather up my slightly damp clothes, sleeping bag, and foam mattress and retreat to the van.  I guess I would not have made a good traveler in 1850.

Day 9 - Montpelier to Fort Bridger - Wednesday June 5, 2013

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We did not make very much headway east today. We got a somewhat late start because we spent some time at the visitors center in Montpelier.  Of interest there were a series of paintings based on imagined scenes at various places along the Oregon Trail. Some of those places we had seen like Striker's Rock Creek store, signature rock, massacre rock, and a couple of others.  Then there was an interesting train museum and some other history items in the downstairs area.  It is not quite clear why they call the place the National California and Oregon Trail Visitors Center. I suspect it has something to do with congressional pork. The paintings - probably at least 2 dozen of them, were displayed on the outside wall of what I think was an auditorium where they do living history presentations.  They also have a third floor there which we did not visit.
We did not leave Montpelier until at least noon heading down Highway 30 along west side of Bear Lake to the small down of Paris. There we spotted a "Historical Marker" sign in front of a beautiful church with a tall tower of a red sandstone building.  When we stopped we found that it was the Montpelier Mormon Temple. A rather imposing edifice in a small town.  When we started to walk across the lawn to inspect the monument in the center of the lawn we were interrupted by a women who started telling us about the church, its history, its significance and a few (!!) other details relevant to a Mormon Temple.
Some interesting tidbits include the fact town was founded by a group of Mormons from Salt Lake City and one of the men involved in the original town design was named Perris.  Apparently, the docent said, the Post Office thought that the name was misspelled and the name of the town was changed in official documents to Paris.  But designing Paris did not end Mr. Perriss' career as a city planner. He next went to San Bernardino where he was responsible for the layout of San Bernardino and finally got his name in print in the town of Perris - adjacent to San Bernardino.
The architect of the church was a nephew, I think she said, of Jospeph Smith. The sandstone was locally quarried, the wood is white pine that has been treated by an old antiquing process using some tools that she showed us in the reliquary in the back room. The church was renovated a few years ago.  She made sure we were clear protruding mortar between the sandstone blocks was intentional - not a sign of poor or lazy workmanship. There is a  reason the mortar between the sandstone blocks protrudes rather than being recessed. The reason is that if water accumulates in the recessed mortar, then freezes, the freezing may crack the mortar, so the integrity of the structure is damaged. So, the tour was not without some new information. She then proceeded to tell us a little about the history of the Mormon Church. The revelations to Joseph Smith, the tablets, and the fact that when Jesus was crucified in the time between Good Friday and Easter Jesus visited the United States.  Also some Mormon people had come to America either before or after that.
After the visit to the Temple, we proceeded along Bear Lake area, droving along the west side  then down through a little but of the northeastern corner of Utah, then into Wyoming. We went south on US89 from Paris, then east at Laketown on State Route 30 to Kemmerer. Along this route we saw occasional signs that this was the Oregon rail Auto Route.  It apparently approximates on the the various routes taken by emigrant going to Oregon after they had crossed through South Pass and crossed the Continental Divide. Some went in a more northerly route, either Lander Road or the Sublette Cut-of. But the majority went on the more southerly route through Bear Lake valley and over the route we have been driving the past few days.
 When we stopped just east of Kemmermer for fuel I asked a young man at the next pump if there was a good restaurant nearby for lunch - it was about 3:30.  He said the Log Cabin down the road is pretty good, "It's Mexican but the food is pretty good."  So we drove down the street a block and saw a log cabin building with a big sign "Jalisco Restaurant" and deduced that is what he was talking about.  His directions were very good small town talk - the directions are not by road or number of blocks, but are by landmarks familiar to the person giving the directions.  Everyone knows where he log cabin restaurant, it's "right down there" with a gesture int he general direction. We had a good lunch there then continued on.
We arrived about an hour later in Wyoming at Ft. Bridger, pop. 319,  As we approached the Ft. Bridger State Historical Park there was a sign, of the same design as the trail marking signs we have seen for the past several days and which mark all of these historical trails.  The sign noted that this was the intersection of four historical trails: Oregon Trail, California Trail, Pony Express Route, and the Mormon Pioneer Trail.  Not to mention the Ft. Bridger and training post and other trapper activity prior to the arrival of wagon trains.  It is a bit strange that a town at the cross roads of so many historical trails and events is hardly a town at all.
When we got to the Historical Park we were not surprised to learn that the park was closed, and the museum would be closing within half an hour. So we pulled into the RV park next to the Historical Park and got a spot among immense behemoths about 4 times the size of our little vehicle.  We then had to drive 6 miles to the shopping mall near here where there is a Benedicts - a real grocery store with actual produce and meat (as opposed to the supplies available in the little market in Ft. Bridger), and next door a Shopko (said by our informant as if I'd certainly heard of such a retail giant) where I bought a deck of cards and a couple of bandanas to replace my shirt sleeves.

Day 8 - Massacre Rock to Montplier, Idaho

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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.

Day 6 - Three Island Crossing to Twin Falls

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Day 5 - Boise to Caldwell, Idaho

We stopped at the Ward massacre site where 18 of the 20 members of a wagon train party, most of whom were members of the Ward family were killed by Indians.  Two young members of the family, two boys, were rescued by men from a nearby wagon train that heard the commotion. Needless to say the response of the US Army in the area, from Fort Boise, was quick and violent.

Relations between the travelers going through this area and the local Native American population, beginning in the 1830s, were peaceful. As the westward migration gathered steam after 1842 the relations soured: The migrants' cattle were overgrazing the land destroying the native bunch grass and enhancing the growth of the irritating sagebrush which makes it difficult for man and animals both to move about..  The bunch grass was the food that the animals important to the Native American diet relied for food. Fires that accidentally got out of control burned the land, not only destroying food for the animals but the bare land then resulting in dust storms that further eroded the native habitat.  One day, in the area near Parma, the ward train pulled up for lunch. A group compoded of two white men and thee native Americans approached the travelers wanting to gtradefor hosrses. Having no spare horses the trade wasnogt made.  In the meatime, members of the Winnasc Indians in the area, well armed with rifles and horses, were gathering nearby. When the horse trade could not be workout, they attacked the Ward party in 1854. 18 or 19 members of theWard part were killed and one young son, Newton Ward, was rescued.

Later in the year, Major Granville Hallerset out to find the people responsible for the massacre. After contacting one group of Indians and establishing that that group had not been involved, they arrested 4 men who they believed had been involved.  While attempting to escape, three of the Natives were killed and the fourth was wounded bugt escaped. One of these was shot while attempting to escape.  The following year Major Haller set out again and ultimately arrested, tried, and convicted three Natives  for the muders of the Ward party.  The convicted men wee hung over the graves of the Ward party. (For further information click here)

This, and other animosity between he Natives in the area and the emigrants, as well as the discovery of gold in California, resulted in a reduction in the migration to through Idaho,  That all changed in 1860 when gold was discovered in Eastern Idaho and a reverse migration east began.


On Thursday,  as we were driving toward Caldwell through the town of Notus (pop. 510), I noticed a sign on the edge of the road that had the words "confederate refugees."  I speculated that the sign referred to refugees from the Confederate states who emigrated from the confederate states to the area at the time of the Civil War.  We went back to the area the today and my speculation was confirmed.  Refugees from Missouri had come to the area in 1863 and 64 and had started farming and other jobs in the area.  I further speculated that the name of the town stands for "Not US."  Like Bringham Young's Mormons who tried to escape from  the US by traveling overland to Utah or traveling aboard the Brooklyn to come to California, the Confederate citizens were unable to run fast enough or far enough to escape the U.S.

Fort Boisie was established on the banks in 1834 by the Snake River by the Hudson's Bay Fur Trapping Company.  The original Fort and two different replacements about 5 miles to the west were destroyed by fire and, finally by flooding, in 1853,   The present Fort is a reconsTruction on the main street of Parma. The cement sculpture in front of the fort honors Marie Dorian, an Indian woman.  Her tribe living in the area was attacked by another tribe and everyone in the tribe was killed except for Marie and her two young children - one a baby in a papoose.  Marie took off with a couple of horses and they ended up in Walla Walla where they were rescued by another Indian tribe = an amazing story of endurance and persistence.
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Fort Boise is described in a variety of ways in the journals of the migrants who arrived there.  Early in the migration, the fort is described as a very nice place, with hundreds of sheep, goats  and cattle that could be purchased by the poor and hungry travelers who had already sent 4 months n the road with a steady diet of bacon, beans and hard tack.  Theater tickets, and other amenities were a sight for the sore eyes of the overlanders. Later descriptions were of a run down, ramshackle place full of thieves of all types and people from all over the world.  Not a place to be enjoyed and a great disappointment to the travelers who had been looking forward to a pleasant respite after several months on the trail.

In addition to the replica fort downtown, there was supposed to be a marker for the original site of the fort on some public land than was accessible off a gravel road near the river.  We found the road, we thought, and followed it to the end where we found the two parking places described in the Idaho volume of the trail guide we have been following - more or less.  We walked along the road which was closed to vehicle traffic. We saw a family camping along the river, a couple of small boats with people fishing in the river, but did not find the marker.  I am not sure we were in the right place, but it did not seem useful to pursue the search.

From Parma we headed back to Caldwell and the Three Island Crossing of the Snake River.  This was the most popular place to cross the river until some alternatives were established.  There is a very nice visitors center at the point where the crossings occurred between 1832 and about 1853.  The visitors center is like the ones that we have seen before - dioramas depicting various scenes which would have typically been encountered by the travelers on their way west.

There was also an interesting film which showed reenactments of the crossing which had been done periodically for a number of years. The reenactments looked very realistic, with covered wagons careening down the banks into the river behind horses (unusual in the 19th century and oxen (the typical animal used along the Oregon trail).  During these crossings the teamsters had to be ready to cut loose their animals in the event the wagons tipped over, and one sequence in the film showed that occurring - undoubtedly not a planned event as the teamsters were clinging to the wagon as it floated down the river, the animals with the ears laid back along the side of their heads trying to swim across the river encouraged by men either on their backs or swimming along side of them.

The visitors center also included some videos of local Native Americans discussing the plight of the Indians at the present time.  I thought the discussion were interesting and reasoned - they emphasized that the younger generation was losing knowledge of their native heritage and that the older generation had an obligation to see that that tradition was not lost.  They also mentioned that the Indian view of the world was so different from that of the Euro-Americans (a term often seen and heard in these parts) that it was simply necessary that the two views co-exist.

The next stop on the trip was a visit with a friend of mine in Gooding which is about 25 miles east of Caldwell - more or less along the Oregon Trail route.  After a short visit, and another fruitless attempt to solve all of the problems of the world, Chuck and I came back to the Three Island Crossing campground and sent the night there.  In an effort to partially recreate the actual experience of the the original Oregon Trail travelers, we ate dinner at the Carmela Winery which just happened to be right next door to the campground.  Chuck's meal of crusted wild-caught Idaho trout (seared to perfection), and myidinner of prime rib was not unlike what the folks on a trip in 1850 might have enjoyed - fish from the nearby river, and prime rib from one of the oxen that drowned trying to cross the river.  The clam appetizer and fresh salad that we had with dinner might have been a bit more than the folks would have had in the old days.

See photos from this day here