Register Cliff

A few hours north of Cheyenne near the town of Guernsey, Wyoming is Register Cliff. It is about a 30 minute drive off of I-25.

Meandering through town, we arrived at  the historical site. There were no park rangers . Our entrance fee was the dust we breathed from the vehicle ahead of us.

The site was a mound of limestone rising over 100 feet.  The air was warm and still. Birds had nested in the underside of rock crags that looked like beehives. There was constant movement as tiny birds flew around defensively, returning occasionally to inspect their nests.

Along the base of the cliff  were the names of emigrants. Heading West in the mid 1800s , their names were scratched into the the soft stone. We had to look closely to identify the carvings of the settlers, from visitors who felt they needed to add their name and date. I guess everyone who carved their names into the face of the rock were travelers of one sort or another.

Close to the cliff site were ruts from the wagons heading west. They were about five feet wide and looked like troughs. It was the visible path of hopes, dreams, and adventure.

Barb and I  attempted to imagine the life of these nomads. It was difficult to do with our electronic gadgets and the level of comfort we enjoyed. Google was always there to show us the way (as long as there was a cell signal). We drove a vehicle that softened the jolts with shock absorbers,  stayed in hotels that promised comfort.  Even if one is an outdoor enthusiast, hiking gear has advanced to levels of functionality, not dreamed of by these emigrants.

Settlers, with the prospect of a promise, headed west, facing dangers. They needed  to make sure they had ample food for their family and livestock. Infections could kill them. Wild animals stalked them. Native Americans struggled on how to respond to these intruders traversing their lands. Forts were set up to protect the travelers, mainly from the Native Americans. Treaties were made and broken, there was conflict and massacres. Ultimately they were herded into reservations and forgotten.

Stories were told by the victor and the vanquished. Like everything in history, nothing can be explained or fixed by a sound bites. There is no road back. There is only the opportunity, going forward, to treat others as you wish to be treated.

Name etched in limestone

 

Ruts from wagon wheels

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