Our wedding anniversary was
coming up and it was time for me to get on the road. I usually head north, the same as my husband and I did when we celebrated together. I planned to go to Centerville, Iowa, where we had spent a week in March of 1994. But when I checked the weather, it was a bit nippy that direction, with snow and ice predicted. I planned a trip south instead. Another trip all by myself, but I was getting better at being alone.
I’ve always wanted to travel
the Chisholm Trail through Oklahoma.
I’ve been up and down northern parts of Highway 81, which is set along the trail
route. I found it interesting, years
ago, that towns in west central Oklahoma were only eight or ten miles
apart. Then I read why - for the most
part, they were stopping points on the Trail.
By searching for Chisholm trail routes on Google Images, I found plenty of maps and printed a few.
I packed my camera, my Roads
of Oklahoma atlas, and other bits and pieces I thought I might need -
toothbrush, hairbrush, a few clothes - and set off for Texas.
You can find a zillion books
and websites about the Trail and about Jesse Chisholm, himself.
Chisholm Trail this is one of the most thorough
I skimmed through a dozen or so websites and books, then decided to start from Nocona, Texas. That got me south of the Red River and ready to head north into The Territory.
Getting to Texas was just as
interesting as the rest of the trip would be.
I stopped in the Arbuckle Mountains.
From this lookout point, “on
a clear day, you can see forever”.
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Some sources say the Arbuckles are the the oldest mountains in North America. Others say they are among the oldest. Either way, they have weathered a bit. They are also unusual in that they run west-east rather than north-south.
I found this marker at the lookout point. Excerpts from the marker give
this information:
“Oklahoma, Where Reflection
Seismograph Was Born . . . method records reflected seismic waves as they
travel through the earth, helping to find oil-bearing formations . . . The
Arbuckle Mountains of Okla. were selected . . . because an entire geologic
section, from the basal Permian to the basement mass of granite is exposed here
. . . The world’s first reflection . . .
was measured on August 9, 1921 . . . “
I reached Texas and travelled
west from Gainesville along Highway 82. It was a quiet
drive, wonderful weather, few - but pleasant - sights along the way. I finally reached Nocona. It’s a quiet town now, since the boot factory
has moved. I imagine years ago it was a
bustling community, but doesn’t seem that way any longer. They have a museum and I was surprised to
find that the company also made baseball gloves and other leather
products. Makes sense to me.
I don’t know if Nocona has
any chain hotels near about, since I didn’t look. There was a place to stay right on the main street. It was nice, clean, and very unusual. It looked as though it had been converted
from two buildings with a space between - - as if one narrow and deep building
had been cleared out to make a breezeway, which was turned into an atrium, more
or less. Many of the inside rooms didn’t
have an exterior window. The owner moved
me from one of those to a ground floor room at the front of the building where
I could look out onto the street.
I researched the Trail some
more, walked, took photos, then turned in for the night.
I discovered in my extra
research last night that it would be difficult for me, in my little car, to
reach the point of believed-to-be-actual crossing. Apparently there was a marker there, but it
was a sandy road to reach it and I wasn’t in a vehicle with high enough wheel
clearance to chance it. So, I headed a
little further west to paved road.
There’s never much water in
the Red River and there certainly wasn’t this day.
I had been up early, as usual, but I bet that
I didn’t start the crossing as early as those cattle once did. The morning was clear and cool and
wonderful. There is so little of civilization
in that part of the state and so little traffic at that time of the day, I
could well believe that I was stepping back in time.
To begin the Trail . . .
The first town I came to was
Terral.
I wandered around the
streets, looking at the collection of houses. At one time it must have been a fairly prosperous place, as this large, abandoned church tells a story different from the one I saw around me.
I found the sign pointing to the marker for the Trail, but stopped in
the Post Office to ask about it. The
lady there told me that it was several miles east of where we stood, the road turned
into field, and headed for the river where it met the crossing place in Texas -
the one I couldn’t get to. I couldn’t get to this one either - unless I wanted to
hike - and she warned me of snakes which were beginning to come out of
hibernation. I’d sure hate to disturb a
snake, so I decided to forego seeing the crossing point.
I did follow her directions,
though, to this place, which overlooks the Trail.
This rock, along with plenty
of others, surprised me. It’s volcanic
and I didn’t expect to see that here.
I spent quite a while on this
high point. I could look off into the
distance and see nothing “civilized”. I
could hear the wind and the birds and nothing man-made. I let my imagination have full run while
sitting there.
I finally needed to move on
and headed back to the highway for the drive to Ryan, my next stop on the Trail.
Ryan had more of a town to it
than Teral. I circled the neighborhoods as I did in other towns further along my route.
Addington, Oklahoma, was the
next stop along my route. Wikipedia says that according to the 2000 census, there were 117 people living in Addington. I believe they all must live in the countryside.
There isn’t much left except
a modern metal Post Office building. I
stopped to ask directions to the Trail since the marker was near the post
office. The lady there told me it was
east a few miles, so I drove a bit, but didn’t find anything significant and
turned back.
As you can see from the sky
in the photos, it was beginning to cloud up.
I headed for my next stop, which was Duncan, circling through any other towns I came to. Duncan has a large museum dedicated to the Chisholm Trail.
I parked and went inside. There
were two ladies at the reception desk who didn’t bother to say hello, they were
so busy chatting with each other. The
building was fairly recent and the shop and signs inside were slick and new. I decided that neither my heart nor my mind were
ready for an indoor discovery of the Trail and left. Some day I’ll visit the
museum again, but not this trip.
Back on the road north for Chickasha. I was familiar with the town and would rest
there for the night.
Tuesday, March 8th,
Anniversary Day. Travelling alone can
be good - I’ve done it often enough - but usually from choice, not
necessity. I’m especially missing my
husband who would have loved this trip.
Outdoors, history, lots of sight-seeing, not in a hurry to get anywhere. Almost perfect.
It was definitely a
misty morning. I just hope it doesn’t turn
into rain since I plan to be out of the car very often.
The road was quiet and I saw
few cars on the way north. It wasn’t
nearly as isolated as the southern part of my route had been. At Mustang, Oklahoma, there is a big loop in the Trail - the trail
split. I easily found the marker. It’s on the property of the VFW post so I had
a parking space to stop and take photos.
The large plate on the rock
commemorates “Names of Silver City Pioneers / First Settlement in the /
Chickasaw Country / 1873 - 1901”.
Apparently some were left off the list since there’s an addition plate
at the bottom with a few more names.
A small plate on the other side says:
This boulder marks / The /
Chisholm Trail / site of Silver City trading post / first school, and pioneer
burying / ground, two miles north / dedicated to / ranchmen, cowboys, early
settlers, / and their descendants.
A large metal plate shows the
map of the trail split. The explanation
is that one branch continues the original route, while the western branch of
the split heads for the Cheyenne Indian Agency at Darlington, near Ft Reno,
enabling drovers to sell to the agency.
In doing research for the
trip, I ran across the account of a man, Bob Klemme, who spent his own money and time to put
up markers of the historic route of the Trail. They are cement, very visible, and a good
thing to find. There is an excellent video on YouTube about him.
I found these testaments to
the Trail.
I especially like this one.
Chisholm Trail
Over
this spot passed the vast herds of long-horned cattle from the ranges of Texas
to the railroads in Kansas.
It was in 1867 the first herd came up this trail on
the way to the nearest railroad loading yards in Abilene, Kansas.
Jesse Chisholm, an Oklahoma part-Cherokee Indian
trader, soon after the Civil War, laid out a trail for his freight wagons that
reached approximately from the Arkansas River in Kansas to the North Canadian
River in Oklahoma.
In time the entire trail from southern Texas to
northeastern Kansas took the name “Chisholm” after the man who had laid out the
major part existing when the drives began.
In the twenty years of its use, millions of beeves
were driven up this route, making it the greatest cattle trail of all time.
It was now mid-afternoon and
I was tired. I had been on a trip for
our anniversary; it was misting more heavily and turning into rain on
occasion. I decided that since I had
been on the northern part of my journey more than once, I would give up the
idea of tracking the entire Trail on this trip.
One of these days I’ll go to Abilene and work my way south to this
point.
Song music and lyrics from Cowboy Ballads
Oh, come along, boys, and listen to my tale,
I'll tell you all my troubles on the ol' Chis'm trail.
Chorus:
Come a-ti yi youpy youpy ya youpy yay,
Come a-ti yi youpy youpy yay.
On a ten-dollar horse and a forty-dollar saddle,
I was ridin', and a-punchin' Texas cattle.
We left of Texas October twenty-third,
Drivin' up trail with a 2 U Herd.
I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight,
An' afore I sleep the moon shines bright.
It's bacon and beans most every day,
I'd as soon be eatin' prairie hay.
Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss,
But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss.
Old Ben Bolt was a mighty good man,
And you'd know there was whisky wherever he'd land.
I woke up one mornin' on the Chisholm trail,
With a rope in my hand and a cow by the tail.
Last night on guard, an' the leader broke the ranks,
I hit my horse down the shoulders an' spurred him in the flanks.
Oh it's cloudy in the west, and a-lookin' like rain,
And my damned ol' slicker's in the wagon again.
Oh the wind commenced to blow and the rain began to fall.
An' it looked by grab that we was gonna lose 'em all.
I jumped in the saddle an' I grabbed a-holt the horn,
The best damned cowpuncher ever was born.
I was on my best horse, and a-goin' on the run,
The quickest-shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.
No chaps, no slicker, and it's pourin' down rain,
An' I swear, by God, I'll never night herd again.
I herded and I hollered, and I done pretty well,
Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to Hell."
I'm goin' to the ranch to draw my money,
Goin' into town to see my Honey.
I went to the boss to draw my roll,
He figgered me out nine dollars in the hole.
So I'll sell my outfit as fast as I can,
And I won't punch cows for no damn man.
So I sold old Baldy and I hung up my saddle,
And I bid farewell to the longhorn cattle.
