Trace on the Trail

Circling the wagons first day

traceonthetrail — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 12:00:05 +0000

Beautiful, innit?

B. Christiansen

Nancy’s first day

traceonthetrail — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 11:56:25 +0000

No hill for a climber! That smile says she had a good first day

Brenda Christiansen

Where was Blondie?

traceonthetrail — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 11:52:54 +0000

Danny watering Glen's team, Blondie is passenger

Brenda Christiansen

skinner and dave first day

traceonthetrail — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 11:49:09 +0000

not lookin any worse for the wear of the first day

Brenda Christiansen

Brenda’s px 1 Trail Boss

traceonthetrail — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 11:37:47 +0000

The plaque reads: “This statue pays tribute to those couragous men who came up the Texas Trail and recognizes the role the trail drives played in establishing the beef cattle industry in the northern plains. Sculpture by Robert Summers, at Boot Hill in Ogallala, Nebraska

Thanks to Brenda Christianson for so many fantastic pix

traceonthetrail — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 19:41:55 +0000

Way back at the head of the trail, as we approached our campsite at Lake McConaughy, Danny told us there were dozens of buffalo silhouettes placed all over the eastern hills. I saw a few, and the idea struck me as wonderful, but I see now, after driving I-25 home from Wyoming, that these thin, black, flat, hard shadows have become quite an addition to the western landscape. In Illinois, basically two kinds of these yard or porch ornaments are common, a man sitting on a swing smoking a pipe or leaning against a fence, his leg hiked up a little. But in Wyoming and Colorado, silhouettes mushroom, a fun and wistful decorative crop.
A man on a horse holding an actual American flag, as if the shadow on some town’s Main Street had been hardened and saved, greeted passersby near a ranch ‘s front gate. Another ranch family sunk supports for a rectangular sign in front of their far set-back house, where they displayed three cut-outs, the shapes of three children, small, medium and large.
Atop a hill west of Douglas, “Home of the Jackalope,” stands a silhouette of the half rabbit/half antelope that must be ten foot tall. I’m reminded of Donnie Darko’s friend Frank, but maybe you’ve not seen that movie. Driving home at 60-70 miles an hour, I glimpsed flat black shadows of a covered wagon and team headed west, and a mounted cowboy, each at the top of high foothills. The silhouette of a tom turkey preened near a fence; even a camel silhouette saluted us in Colorado.
Our trip is done, and has been for a week. But we left part of ourselves out there on the ground, our shadows, our boot- and hoof-prints,our doused campfires. We saw ruts that had eroded feet deep in rock at Guernsey. Chasing the shadows and the spirit of the trail, we found this year that some of the West’s past has hardened into pasture ornaments. Wonder what we’ll find next year?

Commemorative Rock

traceonthetrail — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 17:08:07 +0000

Danny told me a story before he took a shower in Rich’s trailer yesterday evening, about John McKay’s grave rock. A Salt Lake City woman and her son rode in Glen Nelson’s wagon thirteen years ago. Her ancestor, a Great great grandpa, had died a bit more than seven miles west of Ft. Laramie, according to the Mormon journals, and she asked Danny to let her know where he thought that would be as they passed it in the wagons.
Danny told her his horse walked four miles per hour, so in an hour and forty-five minutes, they would have gone a little more than seven miles. When they had come that far along the trail, through grass, dirt and fragrant sagebrush, Danny rode away, looking around for a place where a person could have been buried if he’d died at that spot.
He found a flat little ridge covered in rocks with a sheer cliff behind it, and he saw nowhere else with that same memorable quality, so he got off his horse and chose a large, flat stone from the bed to take back to McKay’s descendant.
She was moved to tears when she saw Danny riding up with that rock. He told her about the ridge he’d found, where he thought her grandpa might be laid to rest, and that he thought the rock looked like one you might place on a grave. She excitedly asked her son to get the rock he’d carved for the occasion, that they’d brought from home, and told Danny she’d keep the one he’d brought to her, and asked if he’d replace it with theirs, on the ridge.
All this time the wagons kept moving; after all, Danny was an outrider then, in ’97. He mounted up and did what was asked of him, nestling the carved stone face up in a sage bush on the cliff. He had to gallop to catch up with the train.
Last week, Monday, as we came out of Ft. Laramie, Glen and Danny found that stone, right where Danny’d left it years ago. The carved letters had filled with dust, but it was the same one. After brushing away the dust to see the name, ‘John McKay,’ Danny held it up for the teamsters and outriders to see, and quite a few horses and riders came near to look closer. Glen and Danny were moved, to say the least. For Danny, it’s one of the important moments in this ride.

right end of train lined up

traceonthetrail — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 11:33:31 +0000

So many good pics

traceonthetrail — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 11:27:49 +0000

Train lined up 2

traceonthetrail — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 11:21:14 +0000

Danny was right; I'm glad I didn't miss this day.