Westward Ho! Wagons Take Modern Explorers Along

June 12, 1994|By Brian Downes. Special to the Tribune.

MUDDY GAP, Wyo. — No conveyance symbolized this country's westward migration quite like the covered wagon. The "prairie schooner" figured prominently in the romanticized paintings of 19th-Century artists such as Albert Bierstadt and William Henry Jackson and much later in the films of Raoul Walsh and John Ford.

But rarely has it received as much attention as it did last year, when newspapers (including this one), magazines and television heralded the fact that it was 150 years since the first wagon train of consequence left Independence, Mo., for the Oregon country over what later became known as the Oregon Trail.

Between the spring of 1843 and the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869, about 350,000 wayfarers traveled the overland route across the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains to the promised land of Oregon. There were as many reasons for making the journey as there were families, but most sought relief from depressed conditions back East and the opportunity to begin their lives anew in what they visualized as a "land of milk and honey." They traveled in canvas-covered wagons and on horseback, but mostly they walked, having no conception of the vastness of the country that lay ahead.

To commemorate what historians call the greatest peacetime migration ever, the trail states of Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho and Oregon had invited one and all to visit their respective Oregon Trail landmarks and museums and perhaps travel some miles of the emigrant road.

As a Western U.S. history enthusiast, I found the offer tempting, especially when a friend in Nebraska told me of an ambitious plan by dedicated trail buffs to retrace the 2,000-mile route with their own teams and wagons. To help finance the undertaking, they were taking on paying guests who could ride as long as their time or wallets would allow.

It promised to be quite an adventure, but because most of the eastern portion of the trail has been paved over or plowed under, it seemed it would be a more worthwhile experience to travel an isolated stretch-someplace unchanged, that original emigrants would recognize.

Morris Carter, who operates Historic Trails Expeditions and has been guiding covered-wagon tours to Oregon Trail landmarks since 1989, knew exactly what I had in mind. Since Wyoming contains 487 miles of nearly pristine trail, he proposed that I throw in with him when his wagons reached Independence Rock, perhaps the most well-known landmark, and just 55 miles southwest of his home base of Casper.

Carter, 43, was among the visionaries who made this re-enactment dream a reality by navigating the route months in advance and collecting difficult-to-obtain right-of-way permits from officials in the six states. His pedigree as a Westerner is undisputed. Carter's great-grandfather, Daniel Speas, homesteaded a place near Red Butte after arriving in Wyoming on the Oregon Trail in 1889, and his mother's father was a freighter over that same trail. "We have pictures of him driving his 22-horse jerk-line team pulling two wagons," said Carter. "Our heritage goes that far back."

My daughter Katy, 11, and I arrived in Wyoming in the afternoon, having driven 1,000 miles since leaving home the day before. The Carter party had traveled almost as far, but, covering just 15 to 20 miles a day, they had been on the road for more than two months. They had absorbed a lot of country, and except for their sunburned faces, looked no worse for the wear.

In discussions before booking our trip, Carter had explained that, historically, leaders of such expeditions were addressed as "captain." The term "wagonmaster" was a military phrase with no connection to the emigrant trains. So it was Capt. Carter we sought when we found his wagons circled in the shadow of Independence Rock, our first night's camp. After checking in, we explored the rock, also known as the Great Register of the Desert. Here is where an estimated 50,000 19th-Century travelers carved their names, recording for posterity that they were here and planned on leaving soon, so as to beat the winter snows that awaited dawdlers.

That evening we got our first taste of camp life. Meals were served under a tent canopy, where, for supper, Carter's staff dished up variations of stews, casseroles and Salisbury steak, with sides of potatoes and canned vegetables. (Breakfast consisted of eggs, oatmeal and canned fruit, washed down with coffee, milk and juice. Lunch, served on the trail during our noon break, was in paper sacks that contained a sandwich, an apple and some cookies. Too bad our hosts had to make concessions to the 20th-Century-I thought roasted buffalo hump might have been more appropriate.)