BEATING THE HEAT - THE SCENIC WAY!

While I was at my RV “oasis” over the weekend in North Platte, I learned from the Weather Channel that much of the Midwest was in a severe heat wave, including Nebraska.  Careful, girl, when you’re on your hikes…and keep chugging that water.

Back on Rt. 30 W [on Monday, July 18th], I drove for about an hour and arrived at Ogallala, a town in central Nebraska named for the Oglala band of Lakota Sioux Indians.  Dubbed Nebraska’s “Cowboy Capital,” Ogallala is probably the embodiment of a “wild west” cow town, the “Gomorrah of the cattle trail.” as described by Andy Adams in his book, Log of a Cowboy.  With the Union Pacific Railroad located right there in town, Ogallala was, from 1875-1888, the end of the Texas Trail, the trail drovers used to herd longhorn cattle north from Texas.  While the thousands of herded longhorn were being sold and put on trains, the cowboys frequented Ogallala’s saloons, the poker tables, and the ladies.  With all that pent-up testosterone let loose, stuff happened.    

Driving a little bit around the now-peaceful town, I stopped to visit Boot Hill, “…a common name for a western cemetery where the people buried there could have died with their boots on or even buried with their boots on.”  Life was difficult, and violent as well, during the town’s period as the “Trail’s End” and the cemetery was the final resting place for gunfighters, cowboys, drifters, travelers, and local folk.  When the town later established a new cemetery – a “nicer” one – some families arranged to have the bodies of loved ones transferred to the new cemetery.  Abandoned and left in disarray, it was years before city officials took responsibility for Boot Hill and the remaining graves on the site.  Unless they’ve missed a few, I don’t think there are any more graves at this cemetery.  In reverence to the people who were buried there, and to commemorate the history of the time, there are replica wooden planks engraved with names and years around the site. 

  

This bronze statue of THE TRAIL BOSS, on the site of the Boot Hill Cemetery in Ogallala, NE, is a copy of an identical statue in Dallas, Texas.  It represents a cattle herder who "...is contemplating what to do next with his cattle."  

After getting a bite of lunch I then drove along the southern length of Lake McConaughy on Rt. 26 W – the “Western Trails Scenic & Historic Byway.”  Near the west end of the lake, and just before making the turn to drive along the northern length, I stopped to visit the Ash Hollow State Historical Park, near Lewellen.  A homesteader made his home here, building his house from stones, and his homestead was a resting spot for settlers traveling on the California-Oregon Trail.  This area did not make for an easy route and the nearby Windlass Hill was a real challenge for the travelers.  Wagon wheel ruts are also visible here, according to my brochure.    

Cold bottle of water in my shorts pocket, I walked on a concrete path up the hill.  The view from up there was incredible.  I very much doubt, though, the folks traveling this way enjoyed that view as much as I did.  They were too busy to bask in that luxury.  The slope down Windlass Hill was very steep and the descent “…was accomplished in several ways – some tied ropes to the back of their wagons and used ‘people-power’ to slow them; others used their oxen, and still others locked the wheels to make them slide.”  Trying to wrap the image of such a treacherous descent around my mind, I had to remind myself that this hillside and the terrain around me have been significantly tamed since the pioneers came through.  It was a lot more rugged back then.

To the untrained eye (that would be mine), the wagon wheel ruts are hard to find.  I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I think I may have spotted a section of these ruts.  I was standing on a footbridge over what I thought was some sort of ditch.  An informative sign said that “this ravine” was created by the heavy volume of iron wagon wheels that came this way.  Okay, so the wheels were made of iron.   A lot of wagons, each one heavy in itself and carrying hundreds of pounds of supplies, would certainly leave deep “scars” on the earth.  Another sign, adjacent to the ravine, pointed towards the direction of the California-Oregon Trail. 

Behind the ravine was the hill.  The ground directly in front of and beyond the ravine was level and clear, probably due to farming and/or improvements.  Keeping my sightline on the direction of that ravine, I looked up an incline and stopped, fixing my focus on some markings on the surface that appeared unusual.  There were several deep grooves in the ground and on either side of the grooves were what looked like trails or footpaths.  Are those grooves the wagon wheel ruts?  Were those trails made by people walking on either side of the wagons?  I’d like to think so, but I don’t know. 

The view as seen from atop Windlass Hill, Ash Hollow State Historical Park.  That's my truck camper in the parking area.



The incline the travelers crossed, beyond the "ravine," as they continued on the California-Oregon Trail (Ash Hollow State Historical Park). 



Close up view of the same incline.  Are those wagon wheel ruts in the center?  Are those footpaths on either side?



Rt. 92 E took me along the northern part of Lake McConaughy until I reached the headquarters at the lake’s eastern end.  At full capacity, the lake is 22 miles long, four miles wide, and 142 feet deep at the deepest point.  It also has 105 miles of white sand beaches.  Nicknamed “Big Mac,” the lake is Nebraska’s largest reservoir and a very popular year-round recreational area for campers, boaters, wind surfers, scuba divers, and ice boaters.  Swimming, fishing and hunting are also popular activities here. 

Getting the campground information that I needed from headquarters, I stopped first at the campground on Martin Bay.  This was primitive camping (no hookups) and the place was packed!  I couldn’t see any white beaches because, just like the Platte River which is connected to the lake, the water level here was also very high.  Moving on, the Little Thunder Campground on Arthur Bay was nearly full…maybe seven sites available.  Feeling tired (not to mention hot!), I agreed with myself that I should just pick a site and get settled.  The sites closest to the shoreline were all taken so I randomly picked #22.  As luck would have it, there was a path behind my site that led directly to a small beach.  I couldn’t believe it! 

First things first – pay for my site.  The metal slot for the payment envelope was located near the restrooms and as I approached, a little boy came running out.  He was completely nude and I think he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.  I smiled at him but then had to laugh later.   



Martin Bay, Lake McConaughy.

In no time I was in the blissfully cool lake.  The beach was mostly covered by the water but the sand was soft and I could practically sit down cross-legged with the water up to my neck.  There were some kids playing nearby and I noticed that they were dropping something into a hole that they had dug out from a sandy bank.  I couldn’t see what it was they were catching and dropping in that hole but my curiosity peaked and my maternal instinct for the helpless living creature was aroused.  So I got up, went over there and, for the second time on this trip, I asked – “What are you doing?”

The little girl (9 years old maybe) answered that they were putting (unintelligible) in the hole.  You’re putting what in the hole?  “Toads,” she said.  I looked and, indeed, there were a lot of toads in there, maybe 20 or more.  I asked her why and she said so they can watch them all jump out later.  At that point this lady who must have been the girl’s mother came up and reassured me that the kids were not hurting the toads, that they will release them later (they did). 

Liberated toad (Lake McConaughy). 

The next morning [Tuesday, July 19th] I went back to the lake for a quick dip before leaving.  I took a very scenic drive (Routes 61 N - 92 E – 83 N – 2 E) through what is generally regarded as Nebraska’s most extraordinary geological landscape.  I will be taking a different and longer route through this region later and will write about it then.  In good time, I arrived at the Nebraska National Forest Bessey Ranger District, near Halsey.  This forest, created in 1902 by proclamation from President Theodore Roosevelt, is unique because the trees here were planted by hand.  Named for Charles E. Bessey, a professor of botany in the late 1800s, the Bessey Tree Nursery is located on the premises and has, since 1903, produced seedlings for pine and other trees.

Campground site sketch in hand, I drove around the first loop before realizing it was primitive.  No, I want electricity, so I drove around a second loop but didn’t find a spot I liked.  OK, let’s see what the third loop looks like.  Ah, the Middle Loup River is right there!  And, as luck would have it (again!) there was an access to the river.  I took advantage of that access, of course, and went right in.  The river, interestingly enough, was very shallow, or maybe the sandbar was higher than usual at that particular section.  The water came up to my calves and all I could do was sit down – and lay down, too.  It felt good but, as I discovered later, the flowing river did deposit sand in my hair.  That’s OK, there’s more than one reason why I had my hair shorn Clipper #3 for this trip!

As I write this, it’s Wednesday, July 20^th and I’m at the Calamus Reservoir State Recreation Area, near Burwell.  Taking Routes 2 E - 91 E – 96 N through beautiful countryside, I got here after driving for about 90 minutes.  This is Nebraska’s newest large reservoir and the site of a major fish hatchery.  Fishing and other water-related recreation are available here.  None of the camping sites, sad to discover, are within view of the lake.    

There’s a beach here and I wanted to go find it.  Taking my camera and camcorder, I found a path and followed that down to the lake.  The water was a beautiful blue.  The sky was a beautiful blue, made all the more lovely by the contrast with the horizon of green trees.  And the beach -- it had a beautiful stretch of white sand.  There were some adults and kids on the beach, swimming, playing, and sitting around.  Noticing a small grove of trees further up the beach, I walked towards that area.  There was nobody there.  I looked at the lake.  I watched the gentle waves lapping on the beach.  Darn if I didn’t think to put my swim suit on.  It has been hot, relentlessly so.  I continued to look at the lake, so very inviting.  Oh, what the heck!  I took off my shoes, my socks, and my shorts and wearing just my undies and t-shirt, I went right in the water!  A fish jumped the surface.  Birds flew in and around that small grove of trees.  I stayed right there in the blessedly cool water for a good 20 minutes or so!   

Towards late afternoon, after I’d caught up with a bit of my writing, I put on my swim suit and went back to the beach, bringing with me my blue chair, my water bottle, and my book.  It was nice, really nice, but my earlier dip in the lake was somehow more fulfilling and exciting.   



Calamus Reservoir State Recreation Area.



Ohhh, a respite from the heat!  The moon last night and the flashes of lightning, both visible through my cabover window, lulled me to sleep.  It was cloudy and a lot cooler this morning [Thursday, July 21^st] and the perfect day to go check out a fort.

Taking Rt. 11 E – the “Loup Rivers Scenic Byway” – I turned onto a farm road for about three miles and arrived at the Fort Hartsuff State Historical Park, located between Burwell and Elyria.  With a military infantry of about 55 soldiers, the fort was in service from 1874-1881.  Its primary purpose was to provide protection to homesteading settlers and to the neighboring Pawnee tribe who were being constantly attacked by the Sioux.  Because of the scarcity of timber in this area, the fort’s buildings were constructed of a lime concrete, so durable that nine buildings still stand today.  They’ve been restored and many of the rooms are full of period antiques and clothing that were donated or purchased at auction.  The infantry rifles and ammunition, medical and other artifacts are all locked in glass cases, but I was surprised at how open and accessible many things were.  There were a few touristy children running through those rooms and that made ME nervous!

The life of a soldier at a fort such as this is always interesting to learn about.  But, what of the people who supported the soldier?  One of the buildings housed the living and working quarters for the fort’s baker and his family, and for the laundresses and their families.  The baker, every day he fired up this huge brick oven, kneaded dough by hand, and baked one pound of bread for each soldier.  Every day! 

The laundresses, my gosh -- it took three days to do the laundry for one soldier!  They had to mend the clothing first, to repair rips and holes because those will otherwise grow larger during the wash.  Then the entire cleaning process required soaking the clothing, grabbing the Tide – ooops, that’s my detergent, they used soap they made themselves – rubbing out the potpourri of stains (grass, mud, blood, etc.) then scrubbing the clothes on the washboard, followed by a rinsing, followed by a soaking in boiling water to kill the lice and other vermin (ticks would be a good example), followed by a soaking in cold water, and then hanging them up to dry, but not letting them get too dry because they still had to press them, and let’s also not forget the starch.   I may have overlooked a couple of steps or got the order out of sequence, but that’s the gist of it.

After about two hours of walking around and reading the posted informative signs, and petting a resident orange cat, I was on my way south to Grand Island via Routes 11 E – 92 E – 281 S.  By the time I got my site at the Mormon Island State Recreation Area, the heat and mugginess had crept back.  Fortunately, this small state park also has a small lake with a swimming beach.  All I needed was just ten minutes in the water.  Truth be told, I hope this relentless “heat dome,” which is how today’s local paper described it, will move on…and soon!




Officers's Quarters, Fort Hartsuff.



Inside the Officers' Quarters - parlor looking into the dining room (Fort Hartsuff). 



 

Fort baker's brick oven (Fort Hartsuff).

 

Doing the laundry by hand is hard work…ya think?  Try washing a cow! 

As American as apple pie are the summertime county and state fairs that take place all over the USA.  Nebraska has a lot of counties – 89, I think – and most, if not all, of the counties are hosting a fair during July and August.  As, it happens, the very weekend I’m here in Grand Island, the Hall County Fair is taking place.  I like going to fairs in other states because it presents the perfect opportunity to observe the local folk.  I’m always drawn to the farm animals, too.  

After relocating from the state park to the Grand Island KOA [on Friday, July 22^nd], I went to the fair.  All the exhibitions were inside a large airy and cool arena.  One section featured the usual arts and crafts, photography, quilts, farm produce, baked goods, and assorted vendors.  Judging had already taken place and there were lots of colorful ribbons everywhere.  Walking around the section with the animals, I checked out the poultry, the rabbits, the goats and lambs, and the swine.  Some of the goats were dressed up for the costume contest.  The cows I saved for last.

It’s a true family affair to prepare a cow for judging.  Even the littlest kids, 2-3-4 years old, are involved.  They might be doing something as simple as holding a brush for their bigger sibling, or they will be hard at work on a calf of their own.  It is quite a process! 

The cows and calves are led to a large stall to be washed.  They almost always balk and it makes me laugh a little bit to watch all the tugging and shoving that goes on to get the cow or the calf to the faucets.  Dried dung is scrapped off first, the cows are hosed down, shampooed (I spotted Dawn dish soap), and rinsed.  One father was showing his little girl how to use the hose on her calf.  She’s in the 4-H competition and she’s learning something about responsibility and hard work.  One teenage girl, decked out in short shorts and decorated with manicured red fingernails, was soaping down a cow that was nearly as tall as she was.  Nothin’ to it, she seemed to say when she saw me watching her.  The cows are then led back to be dried off and groomed.  Yup, groomed, with clippers and all.    

In the judging arena about 20 kids and their calves were waiting to be called into the ring.  I was looking at a very small calf and the boy holding her asked me if I wanted to pet her.  I did and then I asked him how old she was.  Not understanding his response right then, a nearby adult stepped in and said the calf was six-weeks old.  The boy then caught on that I was deaf and he became much more articulate (even with his braces!) and used gestures as well to answer more of my questions.  Himself 8-years old, the boy said that he had observed how thin the calf was and they discovered that the mother had stopped feeding her.  So, he’s been taking care of her and she’s doing a lot better.  She’s a Black Angus, he said.  She was really cute and it was endearing the way she leaned on him.  Times like this is when I feel most conflicted and I just couldn’t – and didn’t – ask him what will happen to her after she’s full grown.

Back at the KOA I headed for the pool.  Tomorrow is Saturday – got laundry to do! 



My truck camper, surrounded by rolled bales of hay...somewhere along the Loup Rivers Scenic Byway.