The Importance of Independence Rock on the Oregon and California Trails by Linda Carroll-Bradd

 When travelers heading west were faced with a four- or five-month journey, knowing the location of a midpoint was reassuring. Depending on where the group originated, the roughly 2,000 mile trip began from three main starting points along the Missouri River (St. Joseph or Independence, Missouri, and Omaha, Nebraska). The first version of the trail had been established by fur trappers and traders and was navigated on foot or by horseback. As the years passed, the trail was widened and made accessible by wagons. In 1836, Marcus Whitman and Henry Spalding set out with their wives and others to establish a mission in Washington Territory. They traveled from Independence, Missouri, and reached Fort Hall in current-day Idaho. From that location, they traveled the rest of the way on pack mules. The trail was developed farther west in subsequent years, and alternate trails to California, Montana, and Utah split off from the main one that ended in Oregon City, Oregon.

The earliest travelers like those on the Great Migration of 1843 (which included more than 700 people) headed out with a destination of Oregon with few resources to guide them. By 1848, a map drawn by John C. Fremont of the U.S. Army’s Corps of Topographical Engineers based on several trips he made from 1842-1846 provided a clear route. the map is so detailed (even included meteorological data) was printed in seven sections. Hiring a guide for the journey became important to achieve the best success for the group.

Either by word of mouth or on the expertise of the guides, Independence Rock in central Wyoming (about 60 miles SW of Casper) was recognized as the spot to reach by the Fourth of July to avoid encountering snow in the westerly mountains that needed to be crossed. The isolated peak of granite rock stands 130 feet high above the surrounding prairie and is 1,900 feet long and 850 feet wide. Because of its prominence, it could be seen on the horizon for multiple days. Travelers often rested near the rock and celebrated before continuing the trek. Many signed their names using carving tools or with a mixture of ash and grease. As early as 1840, it was called the Register of the Desert by an early explorer and missionary.

Independence Rock, 1870 from US Geological Survey

John C. Fremont camped near the rock in August 1843 and carved a large cross on it. He wrote in his journal about the famous names he recognized inscribed on the surface. A traveling party in 1847 blasted the cross from the rock, seeing it as a representation of the Pope and Catholicism. (Fremont was actually an Episcopalian.) Both of these facts about Fremont’s connection to the Oregon Trail I found fascinating and included them in my latest wagon train story, Tilda, book 31 of the Prairie Roses Collection multi-author series.

Following her parents’ death, Tilda Torsdotter leaves Illinois with her cousin’s family to head to California. After cousin Rakel dies, Albert looks to Tilda to fulfill her cousin’s duties--all of them. She’s trapped.

Hiring on as a driver on a wagon train seems like the easiest way for Flynn Mannix to reach western America. Until he witnesses an inappropriate encounter and steps in. Suddenly, he’s committed to a marriage of convenience with Tilda and responsible for her safety until they reach California. At the end of the trail, will the couple go their separate ways, or will they realize the experience has made their marriage real?

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California Gold Rush and Determining a Place Name

 

More than 500 mining camps existed during the heyday of the California Gold Rush, the vast majority of names have been forgotten. Official dates connected with the rush are January 24, 1848-1855. So many immigrants arrived to seek their fortune in the gold fields that California acquired the needed population count to qualify for statehood. One example is San Francisco. The city went from about 200 residents in 1846 to 36,000 in 1852. Can you imagine the sounds of constant construction as homes and businesses went up?

Mining made a progression from single individuals kneeling at the side of a creek or stream, using a pan to swirl a small amount of water and river bottom to discover flakes.

I love that this photo from 1850 shows a woman

The next phrase was the use of sluice or rocker boxes. Here shovelfuls of creek bottom were put into a box that had wire mesh for the bottom held together by a wooden frame. Several people would shake or rock the box to let the water through and then what remained on the wire would be sifted through by hand.

When the majority of the gold flakes and nuggets were gone from the streams, companies bought claims and established operations at the side of a river. Or they dug into the mountains, following a vein or gold to be extracted. Or high-powered hydraulics were use to break up the rocks to locate gold within.

As a historical writer, I like making my stories as true to life as possible. When I start a new story, I debate the issue of using a real place or inventing a fictional location. The freedom of using a real place is that if the story is set in the 19th century—as all mine are—the likelihood that someone will argue about the layout of the town is very small. If I had a habit of incorporating real life figures into my stories, I might be faced with offended descendants. When I have referred to people who lived, I do so in a positive light and as a way to pay homage to the contributions those people made.

My just-released novella, Tilda, is a wagon train story. I knew I wanted both of the protagonists to come to terms with not reaching their hoped-for destinations—Flynn’s was Sutter’s Mill and Tilda’s was Sacramento. In my mind, the fact they alter their goals in the end not only shows personal growth but demonstrates they are more committed to each other.

As a native Californian, I’m familiar with the Sierra Nevada Gold Country (my honeymoon night was spent in a hotel there). What I wanted was a lesser-known name of a town that was in the right region. When the name of a contemporary town is used, readers who might have visited it picture the locale like it is now. I own a book on ghost towns of Colorado and another for Texas ghost towns, which have proved useful in establishing locales for past stories. But I was able to run through a list of towns I’d heard of and picked a name the settlement was known by before official incorporation.  Therefore, the Illinoistown in my story is present-day Colfax, California.

BLURB for Tilda, book 31 in Prairie Roses Collection:

Following her parents’ death, Tilda Torsdotter turns to her cousin, Rakel, for help and joins her family’s preparations to head to California. Tilda’s job will be to assist pregnant Rakel with her two children under age five and receive the protection of Rakel’s husband, Albert. Then Rakel sickens and dies, and Albert looks to Tilda to fulfill her cousin’s duties--all of them.

Flynn Mannix has his eye set on reaching the gold fields of California. An easy-going guy, he’s always made his way doing one task or another but now he wants to make something of himself. Hiring on as a driver on a wagon train seems like the easiest way to reach the west coast. Until he witnesses an inappropriate encounter and steps in. Suddenly, he’s committed to a marriage of convenience with Tilda and responsible for her safety until they reach California. At the end of the trail, will the couple go their separate ways, or will they realize the experience has made their marriage real?

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