California Hill, Brule, Nebraska

On any adventure, there are moments that really make you think, moments that take your breath away, moments that make people of any age say “Wow….” over and over. On this particular adventure, those moments seem to come when we can feel for ourselves just a tiny bit of the experience that the emigrants may have had,when we feel some sort of connection to their journey. This day we were lucky to have two of those moments. Because each is special and each deserves its own honor, they are each in their own post for this day. This is the first.

Our first moment took place in a spot called California Hill. We were lucky to find it. It wasn’t marked, either on the main road or on side roads, but it was mentioned in our guidebook, and it sounded neat so we decided to go. The book told us there was a historical marker by the side of the road, 4.5 after leaving the town of Brule, Nebraska, and there was a dirt road right next to it that we should take to get to our destination. But when we got to 4.5 miles, there was nothing there, aside from some poles and a dirt road that was unmarked. We pulled over to wonder if the two poles might have at one point supported a historical marker and whether this might be our spot. Luckily for us, just at that moment, a white car pulled out of the dirt road (something that doesn’t happen very often on these roads), the driver leaned out of his window and said “Are you looking for California Hill?” His wife, in the passenger seat, was holding on her lap the same guidebook we are using, “Traveling the Oregon Trail”, by Julie Fanselow. We said “Yes!” and they told us we were in the right spot. They drove off, calling “Watch out for the fresh cowpies!”

So with excitement we turned down the dirt road and drove a half mile to a point where our guidebook told us there was a white wooden barrier that allowed you to cross the barbed wire. We parked.


We walked through the tall grass and through the tight Z-shaped wooden-walled passageway through the barbed wire (made so people can get in but grazing cows can’t get out).


We began to walk up the hill (watching out for fresh cowpies, which proved quite an obstacle course, not to mention prickly pear cactus and rattlesnakes, which are very common in this area). We could see a little sign at the top of the hill in the distance—our book had told us to look for it—so we headed that direction.



When we got to the top, it was almost as if we had struck gold. This is what we saw. I know it won't look like gold to you, but just take our word for it. (click on the picture for a bigger version….maybe you can get a smidgen of the feeling of being out there)


In this part of the country, these are called “swales”, a word that was new for both of us.
The lines in the extraordinarily soft sandy dirt are actual ruts from the wagon wheels of the emigrants from the 1850’s, the original travelers on the Oregon Trail. If you look toward the top of the photo, you will see where each side of the larger road rise up for a couple of feet. Originally, all of that land was even, but the constant passage of hundreds and hundreds of wagons over the same stretch of land wore down the earth, leaving a deep gap, a sunken “road” that marks, more clearly than in any other spot that we have seen thus far, the actual path of the pioneers. You can see the depth of the swales here :



There was something about this place that was amazing. You could feel it. We both loved the spot, and spent quite awhile here. Phoebe took off another quarter mile or so up the trail (the wagons came down this hill, in the opposite direction from the way we had come up), and we both kept repeating “So this is right where they were…”.

After spending some time there, we decided to head down. On the way down, we picked handfuls of desert sage (used as incense, for purification) from this spot that felt sacred. Let us know if you want some…we have plenty to share, and have tied it into small bundles with red thread. As we left in our car, we were reminded to take it slow and easy on this powerful adventure by a friend that we met on the road back down.


We’re not bold enough to defy the messages of animals, so we visited for a long time with our new friend (Phoebe wished she could bring it home!), thought of our friend Yvonne (and Charlie), and then said goodbye.

You know, I brought Phoebe on this trip because I thought it would be powerful and a great learning experience and fun for her. I didn’t know that the stories of the trail and the emigrants would strike me so hard as well. It has taken me awhile to write this post, as it was hard to put this day into words, so you will excuse the length. It still doesn’t do it justice.

I hope you get to California Hill sometime. Remember: 4 ½ miles west of Brule, Nebraska, which is 9 mi west of Ogallala, just at the corner of Colorado & Nebraska (closest big city is Denver, 200 miles southwest). Turn right on a dirt road, and half a mile up, stop at the white wooden fence that crosses the barbed wire. Walk up the hill, looking for the little Oregon Trail Marker. And watch out for the fresh cowpies