Independence Rock – Wyoming's Register of the Desert Along the Historic Oregon Trail
Author's Note: This blog recalls an early winter trip to Wyoming. My wife Maria and I were on our way home from a year 2000 trip to the western part of the state where we participated in a late-season elk hunt with a friend. The route took us past Independence Rock. It was well past any tourist season and I had the rock all to myself - or did I?
By Ken Perrotte
It was three degrees above zero as my feet followed a mule deer’s hoof prints in the fresh powdery snow. Rabbit and coyote tracks silently spoke of the ongoing life and death struggle that may have occurred in still of the previous night. At just a little past 7 a.m., the scene was incredibly quiet.
I stared at the monolithic dome of granite rising 136 feet above me. Struck with a profound sense of history and feeling of empathy, I slowly approached, struggling to make out the weather-worn names and dates carved in block letters by emigrants who longed to leave a permanent record of their having traveled along the Oregon Trail. Young men seeking their fortunes, families looking for a better life or respite from the horrors of a bloody civil war, entrepreneurs, farmers, soldiers – all passed by Independence Rock, south of Casper, Wyoming.
Wyoming from the 1840s through 1860s was a great crossroads of three westerly migrations: the Oregon, California and Mormon trails. By the time the first few thousand travelers made the journey, the ruts from their wagons created a highway across the prairie. More than a half-million travelers later, the trails were so deeply etched that some remain visible today.
Casper was a key point in the journey, the region where different trails would branch off. Entire Mormon communities headed to Utah; others traveled to Oregon and California. Platte Bridge Station was a late arrival, built in 1862 to protect a new log bridge over the North Platte River and guard against increasing Indian raids. Sioux and Cheyenne warriors attacked a military detachment sent to escort a wagon train in 1865, overwhelmed the soldiers. Several were killed including Lt. Caspar Collins, for whom the fort was later renamed.
The fort is beautifully reconstructed. Rick Young, then director of the Fort Caspar Museum, explained some of the difficulties of the westward migration. “There were many decisions to make. Which routes to take, timing the trip so the prairie grass could support livestock, ample water, and so on," he explained. "Most of the people making the trip were middle class. There’s misconception that it was the poor seeking a new, better life, but in reality, people moving along the Oregon Trail had means.”
Loaded Wagons - Abandoned Pianos
Making the trek wasn’t a cheap proposition although there are reports of the bachelors who made the trip on foot pushing all their belongings in wheelbarrows. In many cases middle class families liquidated their homes and assets in their original states, and sunk the funds into equipment and provisions. Typical expenses were about $1,200, no small sum of money in the mid-1800s. For example: A wagon, $85; team of oxen, $200; provisions, $300-600; rifles and ammunition, $60-70; and cash to use along the way and in the new lands, $400.
Early travelers had to make do with the gear and supplies they started out with. Later, as the westward flow increased, opportunists at trading posts offered supplies – usually at outrageously inflated prices. Consequently, wagons were loaded to the maximum, often a ton or more of supplies, at the start of a journey. Some people loaded favorite pieces of furniture. Trip diaries and memoirs are full of reports of abandoned pianos reposing along the side of the trail.
Popular myth and overblown press reports of the times warned of attacks by Indians. These, however, were quite rare and fewer than 400 travelers died from hostile actions. The threat of monetary scalping by sutlers selling goods and provisions was far worse. Still, the westward journey was perilous. Accidents, drownings in swollen rivers, and outbreaks of cholera claimed thousands of lives. It is estimated there is one grave for every 80 yards of the trail. Family members buried loved ones right on the trail, hoping that the wagons, horses and oxen that followed would compact the earth and make the grave site less susceptible to molestation from wolves and coyotes.
“Travelers often purchased guide books to help them determine what to take, where to camp, the distance between points and how to treat Indians, but the trouble is, some guidebooks were faulty. Water wasn’t where the book said it would be – and then there were the guides themselves, the people hired to lead wagon trains. Some were good; some were bad. Routes were faulty, the guides were incompetent,” Young said.
In Casper, travelers parted ways with the Platte River, which they had followed for hundreds of miles across Nebraska and Wyoming. They headed south, where they would link with the Sweetwater River. The eventual destination was the South Pass of the Continental Divide, a gap in the mountain range that boasts many peaks exceeding 13,000 feet. At South pass, the peak elevation reached just over 7,000 feet and the ascent was gradual – no wonder it was a favored route for the wagons.
Milestones along the way were many. Towns were certainly welcome rest and resupply stops. Elsewhere along the trail, giant rock formations with colorful names marked progress along the journey. We traveled a brief portion of the Oregon Trail from Split Rock, near Jeffrey City, a nearly deserted way station that was a booming uranium-mining town just a little more than a generation ago, to Fort Caspar. Split Rock, elevation 7,305 feet, resembles a giant gun site when viewed from either the east or west. Visible for more than 50 miles, it was a major marker along the trail and was also used by the Pony Express during its short-lived history of carrying the mail. Devil’s Gate is a spot where the Sweetwater River has spent millennia carving a chasm in the granite ridge. The chasm 330 feet deep, is 400 feet wide at the top and narrows to just 30 feet wide at the bottom.
Goal: Reach Independence Rock by July 4th
North of Muddy Gap and Devil’s Gate, and south of Fort Caspar, Independence Rock was both a psychological and physical milestone for the emigrants. Reaching Independence Rock around the 4th of July meant there would likely be adequate prairie grass and good weather for the final push over the Continental Divide and into the Oregon Territory. Early snows, or late-summer drought, could mean extreme hardship or worse. The rock was a place where the travelers could camp and celebrate, especially if the trip was on schedule and they actually reached it on Independence Day.
Trail traveler Margaret Hecox wrote, “Being the 4th of July…we celebrated the day. The children had no fireworks, but we all joined in singing patriotic songs and shared a picnic lunch.” Other accounts speak of emigrants firing 13-gun rifle salutes, pies being baked for sharing among travelers, and a chance for a day of rest and socializing before pressing on the journey. James Nesmith wrote, “Had the pleasure of waiting on 5 or 6 young ladies to pay a visit to Independence Rock. I had the satisfaction of putting the names of Miss Mary Zachary and Miss Jane Mills on the southeastern point of the rocks.”
But that wasn't how the rock derived its name, according to the National Park Service. The name was assigned by a party of fur trappers who camped and celebrated Independence Day near the rock on July 4, 1830.
The rock stands alone in a valley, reposing by the Sweetwater River, between two groups of mountains. Its polished look follows centuries of blasting by windblown sand in warmer months and icy coatings in winter. While this feature made it easier for travelers to carve their names, continued erosion has erased many of the names carved in the 1800’s. The most vivid inscriptions survive on the sides of the rock least susceptible to damage from the elements.
Some emigrants inscribed or painted their names with axle grease. Money changed hands as others charged illiterate travel mates $5 to carve their names for them. In 1860, Sir Richard Burton calculated that 40,000 to 50,000 signatures had been left during the previous decade. On Nov. 3, 2000, I stood there, not inscribing my own name, just silently etching theirs into my memory.
A Vision of the Past
Reaching out my hand to this petroglyph of the prairie, I closed my eyes and touched the rock being warmed by the rising sun. I could hear them, see them, camped just to my left, along the Sweetwater River. Children playing, horses clearing the blowing sage from their nostrils, a family grieving for a relative being buried in the evening, men readying for the next day’s journey. I saw wagons moving out, the oxen pressing the final miles toward the Continental Divide. With each step they moved their passengers closer to an uncertain future, driven by the promise of better days ahead.
Opening my eyes and returning to 2000, I saw Maria standing in the distance, beckoning me to return to the warmth of the car and our own reverse journey back East, away from Wyoming's wind-swept, wide-open spaces.
“Come on…Where have you been? You've been gone almost two hours. I was getting worried with it being so cold,” she chided.
“Really,” I smiled? “Sorry, I didn’t notice the cold at all,” was the best I could offer. Time had somehow abandoned me as I picked my way around this incredible monument, watching as the rising sun melted the frost, changed the granite's colors and accented the engravings. What I didn’t share was that for a brief moment, it had been July. The prairie grass was green and blowing in the warm breeze. With the wagons leaving soon, I was there with the others, hurriedly adding our names to that great granite register of the westward migration.
Footnote: Independence Rock is 1,900 feet long by 850 feet wide. Today, a footpath circles the base of Independence Rock and interpretive exhibits tell the trail story. If you visit when the ground isn't snow covered, you can see visible trail ruts, left by the covered wagons passing the site. Many emigrant inscriptions remain. Some are worn and fading. The National Park Service allows people to climb on the rock, but asks that visitors avoid walking on the earliest inscriptions, which are wearing preciously thin.
