As with all backcountry adventures, I had aimlessly fretted, packed the essential gear, put together a menu, lined up a shuttle, talked with area landowners, reached out to my adventurous rolodex of friends for advice, packed and repacked, double and triple checked we had the teepee and... HOPED I was not putting my teenage daughter through, yet, another pain staking adventure that she would use as leverage for the home she may put me in one day. These were all stressful ideals for a Father whose "coolness" was definitely fading with time as my once little girl was maturing into a refined young lady. The day came and we began our slow three day river journey by canoe on a small meandering stream in the Sandhills of Western Nebraska...
As far as the River, you never really knew what you were going to get. It's dynamic changed with every bin. At times, it would be as wide as the Platte and not enough water to carry the canoe. We had to chase the channels and try to outsmart the river. The next bin would bring a fast river with a strong flow. We would dig our paddles deep to grip the water for the power strokes needed to maneuver the canoe. The river bed would turn rocky and ripple; the water flexing it's muscle letting you know who was really in control. At one point there was a small falls; the rocks and the current growled taunting us to give them a try. We took our time and decided to line our canoe through the obstacles with ropes to not upset and lose the provisions we were carrying for the next few days. Yes, we were in Nebraska, the land of endless corn...but here was the wild side of Nebraska; the side that many don't see. Nebraska can be like a calm horseback ride in tall green grasses and a setting sun; or you can find the wild side; when the mean ole nag decided to throw a couple crow hops out right as your are throwing your leg over the saddle to leave you eating dirt, picking out stickers and hoping you catch her at the next gate as she heads back home to the barn...
That night we made camp. A place I had scouted on the map, not knowing what it really entailed. It was off an old road that didn't seem to lead to much of anything...public land and public access, something that I had been centering my life around this last year as I had fought hard for on the Dismal River. People need these wild spaces; places for us to decompress and immerse ourselves. Suitable campsites were half a mile or more off the river. We decided to hike in; carry our dry bags full with tent, backpacking chairs, sleeping bags and more. Each load from the canoe to camp seemed to go by quicker as Addison and I talked about setting up camp and dinner; indulging in this lost and forgotten place. It was to be home for a couple of nights. We had brought books and journals to record our time, our thoughts and experiences. The last person we saw was our shuttle, Fr. Neal, a man who now I could now call a friend. We just completed a private tour of the river and now were were going to camp in a "gated" and secluded area. It was guarded by three strands of barb wire and a cheater bar to stretch it up tight to hold cows in or keep cows out; on this particular occasion not sure which one..
The next day was a day of exploring; walking the game trails and the lost and forgotten roads of Western Nebraska. This is where I began to truly understand a concept I had known but not understood... As our Western States and neighbors are building condos and cabins; slowly "developing" their wilderness and shrinking the size of these wild spaces; here in Nebraska our wilderness is only growing. The financial hardships of living in rural Nebraska is slowly plucking away at its residents. People are leaving the Sandhills and other rural areas due to lack of opportunities and the difficulties of making a small ranch or farm run. At one time, someone lived on almost every section in Western Nebraska. Their callused hands, dirty feet and tattered straw hats showed the relentless work of trying to make 640 acres of land work. Over a hundred years later, most of these homesteads have been forgotten. The remnants of clay like foundations may be all that is found. For the families that made it a little longer; their once homes now have broken out windows and fallen in roofs. The barns have all leaned over and the corrals are held up by sunflowers and over grown weeds; The gates no longer swing and ground rot has ate the posts away. The ancestry from these forgotten places are no longer around. Their genetics can now be found in cities and states far away..their offspring never truly understanding the hard work and hardships their heritage once endured. If the family name still lives it is used by the large rancher to name his pasture and tell the local well man that the "Gibbs Place" windmill needs work or the possible hired man where to throw salt out for the cows. As we walked these old roads to these abandoned places, the sand was deep, the grass was tall and for several days, we hardly seen a soul on them. Yes, our Wild Spaces are growing in Nebraska, but it is at a cost... The cost of the Forgotten Places that, soon, will no longer exist...
Later that afternoon, we got a tour from a "local". A landowner that my Mother had ties to. Debby was a student of my Mother's in her first teaching job at a one room school house in the Sandhills. Debby and her husband have a small ranch that they worked hard to keep. Over the years they had put together a small business outside of agriculture that has allowed their family to find a sustainable living in rural Nebraska. Debby has to be one of the kindest women I have ever met; hardly speaking an ill word. Her warm personality; life appreciative and positive attitude was truly admirable and one that was contagious. This lady would make anyone feel good about life. We bounced around in her little Subaru. She spoke of exactly what I knew...Told about the river community that once lived there but now gone through the hardships of rural America. She showed us her favorite spots in the valley and told stories of the old cemetary and homesteads that are now gone. I found a new respect for these Sandhills Folks. They are people I grew up with, but over the years had forgotten their gratuitous ways. I also found a new respect for a Subaru. She took that thing on and off road; we bounced through the prairie with no roads and took it over deep sand that would get a Ford stuck. Those folks in Colorado truly don't understand what a Subaru can do. A Subaru is definitely capable of more than trips to Whole Foods or Saturdays to the ski lifts following the snow plows the whole way...
That night over an old Coleman single burner camp stove, Addison and I reflected on our day. It was truly a moving day. Debby and her family worked hard to find a viable way of life in these hills... Debby was also an artist and her environment was an inspiration daily in her works. She loves the Sandhills, loves the valley and loves her heritage and connection to the land. As we ate our simple meal of chicken and mashed potatoes we talked about their business, Debby's chickens and chuckled at the Subaru ride across the hills...
On Sunday morning, we packed our gear and I tediously loaded the canoe. Making sure each dry bag found its rightful place to balance the boat for our trip out. Today was tainted, we had a beautiful day of canoeing in front of us, but we both knew that when we reached the next bridge, our trip exploring this Nebraska Wilderness was done. We figured 6 hours on the water, but the river was low and I was planning for more. We started early, to make sure we met our shuttle on time. The sun was just peaking over the walls of the valley and it was a beautiful cool morning. We spoke very few words...I think the previous days experiences and adventures were still replaying in our minds. It is at these moments that my mind truly wanders and processes my recent experiences. It is at these moments that I understand and connect them with how I feel. I can sometimes get frustrated with the history that is currently trying to be passed, pushed and re-written about my heritage and these hills. The people that came to settle rural Nebraska were poor. They scraped every bit of money they had for an opportunity...and that opportunity was food on their table, a piece of land of their own and a future for their children. Yes, there were some atrocities along the way.. But these people came here out of pure desperation. They were fleeing lives of poverty, indentured servitude, soils to rocky and poor to farm, famine and disease. They put their children's lives in danger, they lost their wives, husbands and babies knowing the dangers just for an opportunity to make a life of their own. That is the story that is being lost with the forgotten names, shambled homes and now forgotten places...and that is the true story of our heritage in these Sandhills...
The rest of the day, the river was never very predictable. At times, it seemed vast and endlessly wide. Like before we had to chase the channels and not let the river outsmart us. Other times, the river bed would be narrow with plenty of flow, but I would wonder if somehow, the river was mysteriously losing water due to it seeming so small. We stopped and talked to a rancher checking his cows and like all simple conversations we merely talked about the weather and how thankful we should be for yet another fine day. We seen more eagles and hawks carefully watching us from the highest perches they could find. The Blue Heron would fly from river bend to the next river bend never understanding that the river would just take us to his next roost. The deer and baby fawns would spot us from afar and would patiently wait for us...waiting until the very last glimpse trying to understand who we were or what we were before darting into the tall grass for sanctuary. At this point, there was very little conversation but what was in front us and what we had to do navigate this wild space.
I knew we were getting close to the end when we came across our last real obstacle of the trip. A small, yet power full, waterfall. Without a doubt, there was always something new to see on this river. Addison and I got the ropes out and decided to safely line the canoe through the falls. I was upstream with the stern and Addison was on a point her rope tied to the bow. I slowly fed the canoe down the river and through the falls; one handful of rope at a time; Addison making sure the canoe remained true to the current. If nothing else, this was just experience for future adventures to come. The blood that runs through my Daughter's veins is the same blood as her Father's. The desire and thirst for adventure is there...simplicities of life. Her and I without a doubt have more trips in front of us.... When the canoe was safely on the other side of the falls, I looked up at the bank and noticed an elderly gentleman watching us. I walked up the side of the bank and shook his hand. His grip was firm and pure and one that I knew. He was on oxygen and I could hear the little shots of air helping him breathe. The old man smiled and told me he lived just right here pointing at the roof of a house in the trees. He went into detail about his connection to this place and his heritage. I smiled and listened...fully understanding his pride. He ended with letting me know that the bridge was just around the next couple of bends and next time to give him a call because it was going to be easier taking out on his ground than it was going to be at the highway. I smiled, thanked him and we moved on; now knowing our trip was done. As we paddled away he waved from the bank; we smiled and waved back giving our new found friend as big of a send off as we could. I can't help to wonder what stories will be told about this man twenty years from now. Without a doubt, his story and kindness was memorable; that place will live with me and will not be forgotten as long as I walk this Earth...
A few bends later, the trip was done. This section of water rarely gets seen by a canoe. Getting a boat and equipment out of the river bed was a true chore. The wild sumac and endless poison ivy was nature's way of saying this was still wilderness and her way of protecting herself from the harm of being overran by herds of people. Without a doubt, I found what I was seeking; a wild space with wilderness, right here in the boundaries of a state I call home. Our wild spaces will continue to grow as it continually becomes a challenge for families to find sustainability in rural Nebraska. Part of me embraces this ideal, but I also think it is necessary for us to continually acknowledge this proud heritage and understand the hard work and determination that was lost in these Forgotten Places....
