Somehow, over the course of Nebraska, I’ve climbed from 1089 feet in elevation to 3921 feet, all while walking on consistently flat ground! A similar experience in Kansas should have prepared me for this phenomenon, and yet I’ve been blindsided once again. 3000 feet of elevation gain, with barely a hint of it along the way! Score one for incrementalism.
Some things sneak up on you, like Nebraska’s elevation gain and the fleet of mosquitoes that swarmed me over the first 12 miles of this walk, making nearly every step a misery. I’ve never experienced such an unceasing, implacable attack. Two coats of DEET made minimal impact, as they continued to assault skin and clothing alike.
Others are trumpeted, shouted from the rooftops, subjects of campaigns of despair, bemoaning a loss long before it ever arrives. Like the Y2K survivalists or the dude with an “End Is Near” sign downtown, they’re occasionally canaries in the coalmine, but far more likely to be juvenile wolf-callers.
Finally extricated from the mosquito storm, I rejoined the highway just before Chimney Rock, a marvelous piece of geology that served as a landmark for the earliest cross-country travelers through the western plains. And not just the pioneers and trappers; the Lakota Sioux had their own name for it. “Elk penis,” as it happens. Another connection to young boys.
The sandy spire stands nearly 100 meters high, though it surely was taller in years past. (In the interest of good taste, I won’t extend the metaphor.) Its origins date some 38 million years in the past, when silt and sand were carried by wind and water from the Rocky Mountains. Its apparent solidity is thus partially a mirage. In 1850, Alonson Sponsler noted that, “It is called rock, but it is nothing but sand and dirt.” He was missing out on a good bit of volcanic ash, but otherwise he wasn’t far off the mark. A hard cap of limestone or sandstone helped to keep it in one piece, but the foundations are far less substantial.
For that reason, other pioneers around that time were already anticipating its imminent demise. Franklin Starr in 1849 wrote that, “The Chimney is rough and looks as if it would not stand a week.” A year later, John Wood warned, “It is fast moldering to ruins and if you don’t look sharp, my friends, you will never see it.” Fortunately enough, reports of its death have been greatly exaggerated. May we all look this good when we’re 170 years past our prime.
Buoyed by Chimney Rock’s beauty, not to mention nearly a half-kilometer-long stretch of fields filled with gallivanting prairie dogs, I pushed ahead at a good clip. A day off awaited me in Gering, as did an even more dramatic geological showcase at Scotts Bluff. As the miles rolled by, it pushed ever higher above the horizon in front of me. As if the base elevation weren’t enough, the bluff rises to nearly 4700 feet, towering over the towns of Gering, Terrytown, and Scottsbluff beneath it. All told, it includes “740 feet of continuous geologic strata” spanning “a time period extending from 33 to 22 million years before present.” While its future isn’t as precarious as Chimney Rock’s, it’s composed of the same delicate materials. One sign at the top highlights a metal survey post. In 1933, it was flush with the ground; today, it stands nearly a foot above.
Of course, 19th-century emigrants probably would have been happier to see Scotts Bluff’s erosion. After hundreds of miles spent alongside the Platte River, the badlands surrounding Scotts Bluff forced them out of the valley, in pursuit of a pass that would allow for their continued westward movement. That is to say, progress became much more challenging from this point onward.
Scotts Bluff was named after Hiram Scott, and unlike Chimney Rock, the reports of his death have not been exaggerated. Perhaps you’re wondering what he did to earn this honor. Did he discover the landmark? Establish a settlement? Write a compelling narrative? No, he just happened to die here, abandoned by his friends after he fell ill.
As for me, the end of this walk is certainly not near, but I have reached a tipping point. The walk into Gering marked the crossing of the halfway mark on this particular installment of my trans-USA walk. 1458 miles down, just 1444 to go! But the end of Nebraska is indeed nigh. My next day of walking will deliver me into Wyoming, at long last.
