Ah, but our good Lt. Col. did more than cough at Washita; labeled a "battlefield" and not a massacre site for no good reason whatsoever, unless, of course, white people wanted yet another opportunity to forget that the land they inhabit was made possible through trickery, deceit, and a good deal of violence. On November 27, 1868, Custer led the 7th U.S. Cavalry to the campsite of Chief Black Kettle and a village of peaceful, retiring Cheyenne. Not one to turn down the opportunity to slaughter sleeping women and children, Custer moved ahead, killing approximately 30 to 60 Cheyenne, pausing only to inspect the winter wind's damage to his precious locks. At least he learned from Sand Creek and took hostages this time around.
So yes, we spent our Thanksgiving weekend hauling our bloated frames through a killing field. Pass the turkey! And yet, it's a somber, necessary visit; a final piece to the puzzle of the Indian Wars that speaks well of no one, and justifiably swells our hearts with disgust and regret. The NPS is decidedly on the side of the victims at Washita, which would not have been possible as recent as a half-century ago. The striking visitor center - completed in 2007 to ensure that the battle no longer be commemorated in some dusty closet in the town's bingo hall - helps provide much-needed perspective, a task made easier through the inclusion of a well-mounted 27-minute film. For once, the park service has done it right, as we're used to archaic slide shows where the narrator is some long-dead Congressman or "topical" figures like Burgess Meredith. Amazing what a little money and hard work can do to bring the past alive.
But as the passport stamp is, well, the real reason for the trip, we wasted little time pushing an old native to the ground as he blocked access to the cancellation station with his collection of wares. Yeah, it was a dickish move, but I'll blame the spirit of Custer for that one, and apologize to the ancestors in the car. Having secured both the stamp and magnet, we made our way to the trailhead down the road. Fortunately, the NPS provides detailed maps of the site, and each stop provides context, troop placement, and strategy (which amounts to little more than, "fire at the people in their beds"). At one of the early stops (the entire walk is 1.5 miles, which is short, but might as well be the Boston Marathon for us fatties), someone had dropped a whole mess of corn kernels without explanation. We suspect it was a tribute to the murdered Cheyenne woman Corn Stalk, but as we've seen used condoms on Civil War battlefields, we can't jump to any real conclusions.
The wind was brisk but never intrusive, and the Washita River provided a break in the unending, yet beautifully shifting grassland. Brooke read, I filmed, and as we neared the end, we came face to face with an especially disturbing tale, even for what amounts to a graveyard: the systematic destruction of 800 horses. Based on the theory of total war (and the kind of humiliation meant to drive Native Americans to reservations), U.S. troops slit dozens of horse throats before discovering that bullets were more efficient. It proved to be a tragic, brutal waste, but in light of the bigger picture, some would say that to mourn here would miss the point. I would argue the exact opposite. Anyone who could kill unoffending animals in this manner is more than capable of stripping a people of its pride and culture. One follows the other like night follows day.
FINAL RATING
7/10