Day 74 -- Presho, South Dakota to Chadron, Nebraska -- 227 Miles

Wow! All day it's been just wonderfully warm, but not hot. We've had a clear blue sky, lots of gentle breezes, and our truck cab air conditioner has had no trouble keeping us comfortable the entire day -- until we got to camp late this afternoon in Chadron, Nebraska. Then, for some reason, perhaps due to approaching storm clouds, the temperature shot up about twenty degrees and now we're just roasting. We looked at the temperature gauge that tells us how hot it is in one of the lower lockers, as well as the interior of the coach. The locker reading was 111 degrees, and the coach interior showed up as 101 degrees. Yesterday, when we were camping in South Dakota, we thought it was hot when the outside temp read 90 degrees, and the inside read 83 degrees. Some difference!

The route today was anything but straight as we "stair-stepped" our way southwest from Presho, South Dakota. Our first stop after we left camp was in the micro-town of Vivian, where we stopped to take photos of the highway sign that announced the town's existence -- just because our granddaughter's name is Vivian. After we shot the sign we rolled into Vivian to see if there was any interesting old buildings or vintage cars to photograph before we moved on down the highway.

It turned out that Vivian was alive in name only. The town itself was probably the most forlorn and decrepit place that we've seen yet. What buildings were still standing leaned in one of the four cardinal directions, either from the wind or the snow load, and seemed only days away from collapsing. There were some residents present, and they were quite friendly with their smiles and waves, but the reason for the town's existence apparently waned decades ago.

Exiting Vivian, we jumped on Interstate 90 and headed west, but only for a bit. As you know, we almost never drive the Blue Highways unless they somehow overlap our intended route for a time. Such was the case this morning when we discovered that yesterday's route of highway 83 south from Pierre, South Dakota, continued south from our camp in Presho only after you drove west on Interstate 90 for about 15 miles.

Actually, driving Route 90 this morning wasn't too bad for some reason. Maybe everyone was still home sleeping. But soon enough Route 83 south appeared and, after stopping for some gasoline to fill the RV's cavernous tank, we drove south toward the town of White River, South Dakota and, just beyond, the Rosebud Sioux reservation. Our whole route south, and then later as we switched over to Route 18 west, was just the most peaceful and uncluttered piece of asphalt imaginable. It was one of those situations where even a single car appearing on the horizon was an unusual event.

We drove by horse herds. We drove by rolling fields of corn, soybeans, and hay (photo upper right). Occasionally we drove through a dusty, largely moribund, town, but most of the time we just motored along at a sedate pace and listened to our current book on CD, The History of the English Language.

We often try and stop in whatever town appears on the horizon, and the reason is simple: I don't ever know what the blog subject is going to be for the evening, and I'm always hoping that a subject will present itself. Today the subjects were woefully absent. I did shoot a few photos here and there, but nothing of any real substance that you might want to know about.

This was the state of things all through the day until I happened to catch a notation in the highway atlas we've been using for navigation. The entry read: "Museum of the Fur Trade." I noted that the location of said museum was just an hour's journey west on Nebraska Route 20. We had joined that road in the town of Gordon after dropping down from South Dakota on Route 391.

Probably I've never mentioned in these pages that I've always been a HUGE fan of fur trappers and the fur-trapper era. I've read the books, I've visited whatever museums I can find, and "Man in the Wilderness" and "Jeremiah Johnson" have long been two of my favorite movies, both fictionalized tales of real-life fur trappers. "Man in the Wilderness," played by Richard Harris, told the story of fur trapper Hugh Glass (Sam Bass in the movie) who was mauled by a bear and left for dead by two of his fellow trappers.

Just recently a new movie has been made about Hugh called "The Revenant," with Leo DeCaprio. The museum had some of the costume items from DeCaprio's movie as the staff was called upon by Hollywood to serve as technical advisors on the film.

"Jeremiah Johnson," played by Robert Redford, told the story of the infamous "liver eating Johnson," who legends say had a wife, a member of the Flathead American Indian tribe, who was killed by a young Crow brave and his fellow hunters, which prompted Johnson to embark on a vendetta against the tribe.

According to historian Andrew Mehane Southerland, Johnson killed and scalped more than 300 Crow Indians and then devoured their livers to avenge the death of the wife, and as his reputation and collection of scalps grew, Johnson became an object of fear. The legend says that he would cut out and eat the liver of each man killed. This was an insult to Crow because the Crow believed the liver to be vital if one was to go on to the afterlife.

From the web I learned that: "The legends and feats of the mountain men have persisted largely because there was a lot of truth to the tales that were told. The life of the mountain man was rough, and one that brought him face to face with death on a regular basis--sometimes through the slow agony of starvation, dehydration, burning heat, or freezing cold, and sometimes by the surprise attack of animal or Indian."

"The mountain man's life was ruled not by the calendar or the clock but by the climate and seasons. In fall and spring, the men would trap."

"The start of the season and its length were dictated by the weather. The spring hunt was usually the most profitable, with the pelts still having their winter thickness. Spring season would last until the pelt quality became low. In July, the groups of mountain men and the company suppliers would gather at the summer rendezvous. There, the furs were sold, supplies were bought and company trappers were divided into parties and delegated to various hunting grounds."

"The tradition of the rendezvous was started by General William Ashley's men of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company in 1825. What began as a practical gathering to exchange pelts for supplies and reorganize trapping units evolved into a month long carnival in the middle of the wilderness."

"The gathering was not confined to trappers, and attracted women and children, Indians, French Canadians, and travelers. Mountain man James Beckworth described the festivities as a scene of "mirth, songs, dancing, shouting, trading, running, jumping, singing, racing, target-shooting, yarns, frolic, with all sorts of extravagances that white men or Indians could invent." An easterner gave his view: "mountain companies are all assembled on this season and make as crazy a set of men I ever saw." There were horse races, running races, target shooting and gambling. Whiskey drinking accompanied all of them."

"After rendezvous, the men headed off to their fall trapping grounds. Contrary to the common image of the lonely trapper, the mountain men usually traveled in brigades of 40 to 60, including camp tenders and meat hunters."

"From the brigade base camps, they would fan out to trap in parties of two or three. It was then that the trappers were most vulnerable to Indian attack. Indians were a constant threat to the trappers, and confrontation was common."

"The Blackfeet were by far the most feared, but the Arikaras and Comaches were also to be avoided. The Shoshone, Crows and Mandans were usually friendly, however, trust between trapper and native was always tenuous."

"Once the beaver were trapped, they were skinned immediately, allowed to dry, and then folded in half, fur to the inside. Beaver pelts, unlike buffalo robes, were compact, light and very portable. This was essential, as the pelts had to be hauled to rendezvous for trade. It is estimated that 1,000 trappers roamed the American West in this manner from 1820 to 1830, the heyday of the Rocky Mountain fur trade."

"In November the streams froze, and the trapper, like his respected nemesis the grizzly bear, went into hibernation. Trapping continued only if the fall had been remarkably poor, or if they were in need of food. Life in the winter camp could be easy or difficult, depending on the weather and availability of food. The greatest enemy was quite often boredom. As at rendezvous, the motley group would have physical contests, play cards, checkers and dominoes, tell stories, sing songs and read. Many trappers exchanged well worn books and still others learned to read during the long wait for spring, when they could go out and trap once again.

The equipment of the mountain man was sparse and well used. Osbourne Russell provides an apt description of the typical mountain man from one who was there:

"A Trappers equipment in such cases is generally one Animal upon which is placed...a riding Saddle and bridle a sack containing six Beaver traps a blanket with an extra pair of Moccasins his powder horn and bullet pouch with a belt to which is attached a butcher Knife a small wooden box containing bait for Beaver a Tobacco sack with a pipe and implements for making fire with sometimes a hatchet fastened to the Pommel of his saddle. His personal dress is a flannel or cotton shirt (if he is fortunate to obtain one, if not Antelope skin answers the purpose of over and under shirt) a pair of leather breeches with Blanket or smoked Buffalo skin, leggings, a coat made of Blanket or Buffalo robe a hat or Cap of wool, Buffalo or Otter skin his hose are pieces of Blanket lapped round his feet which are covered with a pair of Moccasins made of Dressed Deer Elk or Buffalo skins with his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders complete the uniform."

So, realizing that one of my very favorite subjects was just an hour or so away really quickened my pulse. And, as an added benefit, we had left central time and entered mountain time, which meant we could pack more activities into our day than we had expected.

First a note about the Museum of the Fur Trade, located just east of the town of Chadron, Nebraska. The museum has been constructed on nearly the exact location of the Bordeaux Trading Post. To paraphrase the museum's sign, "James Bordeaux operated the trading post from 1837 until 1876. Originally, he was from a French settlement near St. Louis and while still a boy, he came west with a company of fur traders. Bordeaux was then active in the fur trade in the vicinity of Fort Laramine, Wyoming territory, starting in the 1830s. In the 1840s he served as host to the explorer John C. Fremont (another of my heros) and the historian, Francis Parkman."

"The Indians brought buffalo robes, furs, and ponies to the post to trade for guns, powder, beads, blankets, and whiskey. Some of the weapons may have been used against the troops of Fort Phil Kearny and Custer's troops at the Little Big Horn. The story of James Bordeaux's life is the story of the upper Missouri country of the 1830s to 1870s."

The museum grounds do contain the trading post buildings, situated on their original locations, but we believe the actual log cabins are probably reconstructions. The wood is so weathered they look pretty darn real, however.

Inside the museum is just the most wonderful display of Mountain Man gear that you will ever see anywhere. From the plugs of tobacco they carried, to the flintlock rifles and muskets that brought down their enemies, the museum has it all. We spent at least two hours there, but I could have spent the entire day there are so many display cases full of artifacts that there was no way I could read them all in a two-hour span of time.

They had canoes and carts for carrying furs. They had a huge display of cooking utensils. They had weapons of all descriptions from knives and tomahawks, to battle axes and pikes. And, of course, they had an example of just about every possible rifle and pistol combination that any self-respecting mountain man would have carried.

However our greatest find of the afternoon at the museum was the museum director himself. We caught up with him as he attempted to use a long pole to close the smoke hole on a teepee behind the museum (photo right). His name is Bill Armstrong and he's about the most knowledgeable person we have met on the subject of mountain men and the various tribes that they lived with, traded with, and sometimes fought.

The three of us spent at least thirty minutes talking about the subject and naturally segued into a discussion of genealogy. Turns out that some of his ancestors are from the exact location in Kentucky as were my Jones ancestors. Since there were so few Kentuckians who survived the battles with the native Americans back then, as Bill put it, "My Blaire ancestors and your Jones ancestors almost certainly knew each other." I hope he's right, Concetta and I sure liked him.

And we had one more surprise at the Museum of the Fur Trade. We got to talking with a fellow visitor as we walked the galleries looking at all the fabulous displays. It turned out he was from Stagecoach Nevada, just down the road from Carson City. He's a avid fan of mountain man lore and crafts, and often attends the modern-day rendezvous celebrations that are held all over the west. Could there be anything more incredible? We traded business cards and promised to keep in touch. He told me if I really wanted an accurate tomahawk, he'd put me onto the right person.

Anyway, we're in camp for the evening now. The expected storm didn't arrive. The air conditioning has dropped the temperature in the rig from 101 degrees to a chilly 90, and we're just kicking back and doing some reading.

Tomorrow, aside from some grocery shopping, we're planning on visiting Fort Robinson, just down the road, that the museum folks told us was top notch. After that, we'll be crossing the border into Wyoming, just to see what we can see. So until then, we wish you Happy Travels!