Scotts Bluff & Chimney Rock
I woke up beside a quiet fishing lake near Mitchell, Nebraska, and drove west to Scotts Bluff.
Scotts Bluff National Memorial
When I pulled into the park, it was still closed. I parked, made breakfast in the van, and then walked up to the entrance gate to see if I needed to check in. A ranger came over, thanked me, and clicked one more visitor on her counter. She noticed my camera and told me there was a bighorn sheep just up the road. “It’ll be a great photo,” she said with a smile.
Apparently, some field corn had spilled from a truck, and this massive animal had wandered down for a snack. I arrived just in time to watch the ranger gently coaxing it back from the pavement. I was so excited to see it that I almost forgot to grab any photos, but I managed a few shots before it finally moved behind a rock and out of view.
Back at the visitor center, I stopped to read about how Scotts Bluff got its name. The bluff is named after Hiram Scott, a young clerk for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company in the 1820s. He had gone west in 1822, working his way up to a trusted position in the company. In 1828, while traveling back from a fur trading expedition, he reportedly became seriously ill. Accounts differ on what happened next—some say his companions tried to carry him on a makeshift raft down the North Platte River but were forced to abandon him near the bluff; others suggest they left him behind on land when he could no longer keep up.
When people later returned, they found only his bones, scattered clothing, and equipment at the base of the bluffs. Whether the exact details of the story are true or not, it was enough to etch his name into the landscape. For emigrants on the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails, Scotts Bluff became a major landmark—both a navigational guide and a reminder of the hardships faced on the journey west.
The visitor center also had a short film about the history of the park, along with a collection of old photographs. What really stood out to me, though, was the gallery of paintings and sketches by William Henry Jackson. Jackson was one of the most famous frontier photographers and artists of the 19th century. He traveled extensively with survey teams, documenting the American West before much of it was settled, and he was among the first to capture images of Yellowstone, the Rockies, and countless landmarks along the emigrant trails. Later in life, he turned many of his photographs into paintings. Scotts Bluff National Memorial houses the only complete collection of his works, giving visitors a rare window into both the art and the history of the frontier.
After spending time inside, I drove up the road that winds to the top of the bluff. The route passes through three tunnels blasted into the rock. Fortunately, they were plenty high for the van. At the summit, I found a large parking area and decided to stretch my legs with a hike to “the tunnel.”
The trail hugs the edge of the bluff, narrowing at times to just four feet wide with sheer drops beside it. I found myself taking deep breaths to stay steady, especially when passing people coming the other way. The views made it worth it—sweeping plains to the east and rugged cliffs all around.
Eventually, the path leveled out and wound past some striking rock formations before turning onto the backside of the bluff. Here, five sharp switchbacks led down to the tunnel itself, a short cut carved through the rock. I startled a flock of birds that had been nesting in the tunnel nooks, and for a moment it felt like the place belonged to me alone. Standing there, I wished I had hiked all the way up instead of driving.
The return hike was easier than I expected. Being on the inside edge of the cliff helped, and I started paying more attention to the plants lining the path. In some stretches it felt almost like walking through a natural garden, with bursts of color against the pale stone.
Back at the visitor center, I stopped at the outdoor covered wagon exhibit, imagining how emigrant families would have seen these same bluffs on their long journey west. By then it was almost 1 p.m., so I made lunch in the van and got ready to head toward my next stop.
Chimney Rock State Historic Site
My second destination was Chimney Rock which isn’t part of the National Park Service—it’s actually managed by History Nebraska (the state historical society) in partnership with the National Park Service. The site was first protected back in 1956, when the state acquired the land around the bluff to preserve one of the most famous landmarks along the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails. It seems the mission has always been to safeguard Chimney Rock as a cultural symbol, while also interpreting the emigrant experience for future generations. It’s one of the most photographed spots on the overland trails, and even made its way onto the back of the Nebraska state quarter.
I stopped in at the museum and paid the entrance fee, which was well worth it. The exhibits walked through the different trails settlers followed west, and what they carried in their wagons. There were displays of the basic supplies—food staples, tools, and clothing—but my favorite part was how they described families starting out overloaded with furniture, pianos, and even fine china. By the time they got into the plains, much of that extra weight had been dumped along the trail. It struck me as a timeless pattern: we all tend to pack more than we need, only to learn the hard way that traveling light makes the journey easier. I continue to learn this.
There’s a trail out to Chimney Rock, and an additional parking lot that gets you a little closer. From there, I hiked the “A” loop trail, which circles around the formation. I stopped often to grab photos of the rock and some of the plants along the way.
On the return stretch, I was fiddling with my camera and almost walked right over a snake stretched across the path. We startled each other—I stepped back quickly, and after a pause, it slowly slid off into the grass.
At the museum, a woman mentioned there were free camping spots in Bayard, just eight minutes away. Sure enough, I found three sites with water and electricity. I pulled in, topped off my tank, and settled in for the evening.