OREGON
OR BUST! Just a few weeks before this was first written,
a rental truck drove through Brookings on its way from somewhere to somewhere.
On the side hung a hand painted sign with this famous exclamation.
Supposedly, the cry originated just over a hundred and fifty years ago when the
first of countless wagon trains started on its long trek from the Missouri
staging area.
Today, an interstate
freeway follows the old wagon road of 170 years ago, its modern travelers
speeding on their way along Nebraska's Platte River, climbing oh so gradually up
and over the great Continental Divide at South Pass, Wyoming where the water
behind them flowed back to the Atlantic and the waters before them eventually
merged with the Pacific.
As in the past, southwestern Wyoming is also the point
where the route divided, I-80 paralleling the old "California Cutoff"
across the terrible deserts of Utah and Nevada where, for thousands of people,
the westward migration tragically ended in terrible deaths from poisoned water
or starvation or the dreaded Cholera.
For those heading to the Pacific
Northwest, I-84 follows the main trail, often within feet of the still visible,
century-old ruts made by thousands and thousands of wagon wheels turning ever so
slowly but relentlessly into what was then known simply as "The Oregon
Territory".
The trail joins the Snake River and follows it through the
present state of Idaho past Fort Hall and on to Fort Boise. From there,
the path leads north and west through the beautiful but formidable Blue
Mountains where wagons had to be winched up the steep cliffs and lowered down
the other side by ropes and pulleys and sheer manpower.
From there, it's on to
the mighty Columbia, so near to the pioneers' final destination and yet, for
many, the worst part of the entire trip. With cliffs too steep to climb,
the exhausted settlers could only pay the often exorbitant tolls to have their goods
rafted down the violent river or (in later years) climb the Cascade Mountains
over the barely passable Barlow Toll Road, sometimes being caught in the
terrible mountain blizzards just fifty miles from the green valley of the
Willamette near present day Portland.
If luck was with them, the early
travelers could make it to the coast in five months! For the less
fortunate, the trip could take up to eight months, leaving Missouri in April and
not reaching the coast until December. Although oxen and mules pulled the
wagons, most of the people literally walked every foot of the way, through
drenching rains, relentless winds, through thunder and lightning and hail and
sleet and blistering sun. And always in the presence of mosquitoes and
snakes and breakdowns and disease and hunger and thirst and fear (although
usually unfounded) of Indian attack.
In spite of the hardships, after the
first organized wagon train made the trip in 1843, well over 300,000 people
began the long journey. Spurred on by their dreams: of religious freedom
for the Mormons in Utah, of gold nuggets just for the picking in California, of
a full square mile of free farm land in the Great Northwest.
Sadly, the dreams for many were cut short by sudden tragedy.
Death followed the wagons every step of the way. Cholera could kill in a
matter of hours, wiping out entire families as it spread from wagon to
wagon. Countless women and infants died during childbirth and their
unmarked graves flank the route of the trail. One of every ten people who
started the westward trek died along the way. That comes to some thirty
thousand men, women and children who are buried along the highway, about fifteen
graves per miles, say the historians.
Today the trip on I-80 from Missouri to
the Pacific is an easy three or four day drive allowing plenty of time for stops
at rest areas and air conditioned motels. The next time you make the
drive, keep an eye on the land as it whizzes past your car. You're sure to
spot the trail. In fact, many sections have survived almost as they were
over a hundred years ago. Many of these are clearly marked and easily
accessed from the highway. Watch for the signs. In some area, the
wagon ruts may be several feet deep. In other areas, the width of the
trail extends for several miles.
If you want to experience even a small taste of
what the trail was like, just pull off the highway in some lonely stretch of the
country. Get out of your car and walk a few yards or so along the
trail. Look down at the wheel tracks and think about how they got
there. Then by very quiet and listen for the ghosts. If you're very
still and the wind is just right, maybe you'll hear them urging you
on....
TO OREGON OR BUST!
take care of
the name first.
What's wrong with calling the place Or-eh-GAHN?
of settlers would do, these early pioneers sought and found
their version of the good life in the lush valleys and mountains and deserts,
along the ocean and lakes and rivers of what is now called Oregon.
