Please, Show Them the Money: Scotts Bluff Nat'l Monument 1/29/11

When we first visited Scotts Bluff National Monument in June 2009, we spent our time driving the 1.6 miles to the top, briefly taking in the windy, cloud-covered sights of the Nebraska no man's land, and returned to the bottom. We peeked inside a covered wagon or two, got our passport stamps, and then headed west to Wyoming. We ignored the visitor center not out of spite, but rather because the time crunch forced our hand. Had we known then what we know now, we would have cheered our decision rather than asked "what if." Simply put, there isn't a worse VC in the entire park system, and yes, I'm including dilapidated trailers trafficking more in mildew than sensible history. Built no later than the Great Society, and likely extending back to the New Deal, this house of horrors is old, embarrassing, stuffy, and dull, without the foggiest clue of how to keep human beings amused and entertained. I'm not even sure it's possible to survive the ordeal without lapsing into a deep coma.

Since our latest visit could not, because of the late hour, include another drive to the top, we decided to spend the half-hour left to us in the presence of displays that wouldn't challenge the imagination of a corpse. The theater - a word I use reluctantly, as what we would soon watch couldn't possibly be described as a movie - also houses uninspiring set pieces that could be called third grade dioramas if I wanted to think of the best possible way to insult third grade dioramas. The words and images before you are from a time when education was akin to castor oil and a paddling in the principal's office, not edification or enlightenment. One can imagine a big-haired mom from the Eisenhower era pulling her screeching young ones throughout this room, daring the brats to challenge the received wisdom on display. And the film! Or should I say, the slide show set to illiterate pap. Rife with spelling errors, bad art, and unitelligible nonsense, the twelve minutes passed like hours, not once referring to Scotts Bluff or its importance in American history. Sure, it was teeming with anecdotes from the Oregon Trail ("Dear God, don't drink the water!"), but please, help me understand why the hell I have to hike up that trail. No help would be coming from the ranger, either, as he was old enough to be the very voice we heard on the soundtrack.

Not updating a visitor center, like ever, is probably not reason enough to avoid an NPS site, but that's all too easy to say when you haven't yet stopped by Scotts Bluff. There's no way to avoid bitterness, especially when the ordeal was compounded by a tour group loud and large enough to fill a Greyhound bus. They cooled it a bit during the appalling film, but I had to hope they'd be once again roused to anger so they could tear this place apart. Curiously, I did learn that wagon travelers often picked up books and clothing along the way, only to leave them again for use by others, but long after that tidbit has left my mind, I'll still remember that the NPS believes you spell Platte with at least three t's.

As with Chimney Rock, Scotts Bluff was a signpost for pioneers heading West, preserving 3,000 acres of "unusual landforms and prairie habitat." According to the literature (the site's pamphlet is the best thing they offer), the North Platte River Valley has been a pathway for at least 10,000 years, beginning with American Indians and ending with the very people who sent them to their doom. The Oregon Trail was about discovery and conquest, trade and travel, with a large dose of military expeditions, stagecoaches, and Pony Express riders to round out the exodus. The bluffs - in particular, the iconic Eagle Rock - consist of caprock, sandstone, volcanic ash, and siltstone, the oldest of which dates back a good 31 million years. Though the source is now a mystery, it was once appropriately called "a Nebraska Gibraltar." It's a memorable setting, if only because it acts as such a dramatic contrast to the flatness of the surrounding landscape.

As Scotts Bluff National Monument (and the town itself) is only a three-hour drive from our home in Denver, it made sense to give it the full treatment at last, and I'm glad we secured a new stamp we hadn't noticed before. Besides, how often does a person have the chance to stand in a gen-u-ine Hurricane Simulator before sitting down for one of the worst movies of the year (The Dilemma)? The so-called "monster storm" did little more than temporarily turn my hair into a fright wig, but those fifteen seconds were infinitely more satisfying than Ron Howard's atrocity to follow. Just another day in the Cornhusker state.

FINAL RATING

5/10