Fortin' Around

[TexasShadow]

Fort Phantom Hill

"Waking up is hard to do," to paraphrase an old song. So much for getting an early start. Mist and fog blanketed everything outside. I hit the snooze button a half-dozen times before I finally pushed my way out of bed. Checking the weather forecast for here and Abilene, it looked worse for Saturday and Sunday.

'I am NOT canceling,' I said to myself as I turned on the cell phone. A quick call to Abilene State Park relieved any hesitation; shelters were available. The tent was quickly yanked out of the dry bag with a big grin. No tenting this time; I wanted dry nights.

Both dry bags -with waffle pad, sleeping bag, monopod, air mattress and assorted camping gear- were loaded onto the luggage rack and strapped down tight. Full bag liners were slid into the sidebags and the tank bag topped off with items for close reach. On with the gear, fire up the bike, power up the GPS, and go.

The fog was thick and drizzle constant. But that didn't dissuade drivers from following too close on my rear end. After turning onto I-20 heading west, I could relax. It was good to leave the cities behind.

The trip began with about 36 miles on a full tank of gas. In Eastland, I could see the strong winds and highway speeds at 70 mph were consuming more than normal fuel. Even though I laid forward on the gas tank so that I wasn't a human sail. By the time I hit Abilene the little fuel tank on the gauge was blinking at me. I needed gas now at barely 200 miles on a full tank.

Passing exit after exit, no gas stations. Trying to suppress growing panic, I laughed aloud when I saw the big bill board "Cracker Barrel. Exit Now." Strong deja vu mixed with relief as I prepared to exit the freeway. That intersection with the gas station and Cracker Barrel has been a savior more than once. First time was on my way to Utah. I took refuge inside the station during a driving monsoon. Then, dripping pools of water, I sought hot coffee across the street at the restaurant.

This time I was dry - me and the bike. With only 217 miles on a tank, it was nearly empty. My gas mileage sucked. After filling up the tank, it was almost obligatory to cross the street for something to eat. It was almost lunch time anyway.

After a quick sandwich, I walked out into blazing sunshine and heavy humidity. Time to shed layers. Back on I-20, the GPS instructed me to get off at the next exit for FM-600. Had I known that, I wouldn't have stayed on the frontage road.

Turning north on FM-600, I saw a sign, "Fort Phantom Hill 11 miles." Cool. Almost there. The road left the highway clutter and wound through ranches full of prickly pear and mesquite trees. The mesquite had been pulled out of a few places, piled and ready to burn. More water for grass to grow. But leave one tree and cows will disseminate seed after they leave the cows' stomachs. Mesquite seed aren't digested and cows act like living four-legged scrub brush planters.

The terrain gained elevation above rolling prairie, or what was once prairie. Now it was mostly scrub mesquite and other opportunists that gain hold on overgrazed land. Where periodic fires and prairie dogs once helped to keep down the mesquite, prickly pear, and other exotics, they replaced the former rolling plains dotted with savannahs of post and pin oaks. The land recovered quickly back then from grazing herds of buffalo as they constantly moved. Fences and minimal management now create little micro-ecosystems that can't sustain their former identity.

Well, the fort was on a hill. Actually, it is a butte. And like all buttes, it was flat on top. How this could be one of the several proposed origins of the name -Phantom Hill- for the fort, was not obvious. But it is. I kept an eye out for any signs of a fort and finally found a sign: two tall stone chimneys.

I was finally at the fort that had intrigued me: Fort Phantom Hill.

 

[TexasShadow]

While photos are uploading to the host server, I'll supply a quick overview.

Phantom Hill has always intrigued me. After all, with a name like that, how can one not be curious? I've heard mixed viewpoints of the fort ruins, because not much is left. Unlike several other forts, very little restoration has been done. Maybe that's why I like it.

But most of all, the stories surrounding it are unique in that so little is documented about the fort. A few accounts have been found in letters written by soldiers to family, a few accounts by passengers on the Butterfield stage coaches (but that was long after the fort was abandoned) and no conclusive source can confirm the origin of the forts name. In fact, it never had an official name.

So in some ways, all the mystery seems fitting for a phantom fort on Phantom Hill. And what a perfect ground for legends to be borne. I will relate some of them later.

The weekend consisted of many other incidents and unique experiences: sharing in the 'family' (as it is referred to) at Fort Chadbourne during its annual Living History Day and learning details of not only the history as an operative fort, but also it's preservation and restoration by a man and his friends who grew up riding dirt bikes around the grounds.

I ate a bison burger where Coronado camped (supposedly), tried to reason with a group of teenagers that think 'camping' is bringing all the amenities of the city, got lost in a thicket of scrub oak, juniper and cedar with Comanche ghosts, interviewed by two couples from Arizona and Abilene about touring on a bike, met a neighbor of Roger's from Terlingua, and ate the best burger I've ever had in a town's former whorehouse.

It was a good weekend. As soon as photos are uploaded, the story will continue.

 

[TWTim]

 

[Lano]

I'm signed on. Let her rip.

 

[klrno2]

 

[TexasShadow]

Fort Phantom Hill was the wayward step-child of Texas forts. It was built at the wrong location, it never had an official name, it was short-lived, and it could barely support human life for very long. Add to that, it mysteriously burned soon after it was abandoned. And it is purported to be haunted.

After annexation of Texas to the US and pleading by the state's representatives, an act was decreed (1848) to establish a chain of forts between the Red and Rio Grande Rivers in advance of Anglo settlers moving westward. Within a year the first line of forts were established: Forts Worth, Graham, Gates, Croghan and Scott. But in less than two years, settlers had passed west of the first line and, now with goldseekers flooding through to California, the legislature appealed to the federal government for a second line of forts.

The only source providing any guidance and experience in that unknown territory was Captain Randolph Marcy. In 1849 Marcy was ordered by the federals to escort a group of emigrants from Fort Smith (Arkansas) to Santa Fe, NM. On his return he scouted and marked a trail that crossed Texas from NM into the Comancheria, the heart of the Southern Plains Indians, crossed the Red River near Gainsville, and then north up to Fort Smith. Later he changed the route in a more southerly direction, to El Paso, to avoid the deep Comancheria country. One of several Marcy Trails, this one would guide future military roads, forts and stage coach routes.

Major General Scott issued orders in spring of 1851 for the 5th Infantry to establish two or more new forts on or near Capt. Marcy's Fort Smith-El Paso route. Four points along the route were suggested including one "at a point near the crossing of the Main Brazos." However, the number and locations of the new posts would be fixed after a close examination of the country along Marcy's route.

Brigadier General Belknap was instructed to take two or more companies to examine the Texas route and select sites for new posts. In his July report, Belknap selected the first site: ten miles below Marcy's crossing of the Brazos and ten miles above the Clear Fork and Red Fork junction of the Brazos. It was the most western point where timber and other materials could be found to build the barracks. This would become Fort Belknap.

General Belknap planned to examine further south to choose exact sites for two additional new forts, specifically Pecan Bayou and the Concho River. The night before the general was to start south, word arrived from Fort Smith of the death of his superior, Brig. Gen. Arbuckle. Belknap returned to the fort from where he ordered Capt. Stevenson to command the camp at the camp near the Brazos and dig for water.

Belknap later returned to the camp, but fell ill with dysentery. General Persifor Smith arrived at the camp in November after a quick and precursory reconnaissance of the heads of both rivers and found Gen. Belknap delirious. The camp physician decided to transport the general to better facilities in a northern fort, but the general died on the way to Preston.

General Smith now holding the reins changed General Belknaps decision to locate the next fort on the Pecan Bayou. Instead, as stated in a report to headquarters, he chose a site on the Clear Fork of the Brazos "at or in the immediate vicinity of, a point known as Phantom Hill - they are hereby established as military posts". It all went downhill from there.

Obeying orders, Lieutenant Colonel Abercrombie arrived at Phantom Hill with five companies of the Fifth Infantry in November, 1851. On the way, one soldier froze to death and was buried in a creek bank. A wet snowstorm killed one teamster and 20 horses, mules and ox froze to death.

Abercrombie's troops found that the site had neither water or timber. Though he sent a dire report of the poor conditions, orders remained the same. Although the men found good stone two miles from the fort, timbers had to be hauled in by oxen from 40 miles away and good water from 2-4 miles.

Nearby Elm Creek water was seasonal and brackish. Dug wells provided 'gyp' water (salty) and dried up in the summers. Cisterns were dug but little rain fell. The vegetable garden dried up and the men had scurvy. The physician recommended adding pickles to their diet and which had to be brought in from Austin in barrels. Fuel for fires had to be hauled in five miles or more away. In winters, carts came and went throughout the day to supply fuel to cook and drive off the cold.

The owner of the land was not known during fort occupation, so no lease or agreement was ever signed. Although it was known and referred to as Fort Phantom Hill, officially it was referred to as 'Post on the Clear Fork of the Brazos.' Ironically, no one can claim with any authority how it was named. There are only legends. Then again, the entire hill seems to be enshrouded with legends and mysteries.

A few buildings of the fort were constructed all of stone: the magazine, guardhouse, commissary and post headquarters. The officers and soldiers lived in pole huts with thatched roofs, but they all had stone chimneys. The hospital was no better. During an inspection in 1853, the conditions reported were deplorable. Many recruits even had no weapons. The inspector wrote, "The aspect of the place is uninviting. No post visited, except Fort Ewell, presented so few attractions."

Finally, in 1854 officials decided that the deficiencies - mostly water and proper food rations - could be more easily supplied elsewhere. Orders were given to evacuate Fort Phantom Hill.

Yet later, and even now, it is considered the prettiest post on the fort lines.

Next: The Aftermath. Fire, stage coaches, legends and ghosts

 

[TexasShadow]

Smugmug decided to delete half the photos uploaded the night before. Hence the delay.On with the story....

ARGH!!! Well, now Smugmug is not sharing any links to any of my photos, so I'll have to link to them tomorrow morning. I am not retyping this again. Frustrating.......
_________________________________________________________

The troops at Fort Phantom Hill probably rejoiced at the order to evacuate. Life there had been difficult, monotonous and lonely. Desertions were common and morale was low. Perhaps someone (or two) made sure they would never have to return.

Shortly after the fort was abandoned, it burned. No official record or witnesses can account for how the fire started, so legends fill in the blanks. Amongst the most popular legends place blame on Indians or Confederates. However, a scout that camped there a few months after the evacuation reported the burned fort. Only a few stone buildings and a dozen chimneys remained -and remain today.

The most accepted explanation is that a soldier and a young boy sneaked back to the fort while the rest of the troops camped that first night and started the blaze, assuring there was nothing to ever return to.

Just as mysterious is the source of the name: Phantom Hill. While sitting in the shade, I pondered this. Many legends offer sources and origins, including the romanticized story that a soldier saw a ghostly Indian on top of the hill wrapped in a white blanket. The Indian disappeared as he approached it, hence the name 'phantom'. Another story claims the name originated with the Indians that passed by the hill and reported seeing ghosts. Yet another ascribes the name to the tall ghost-like stone chimneys that remain. What is known is the name was in place and in use even before the fort was officially placed on the top of the Hill.

A more widely accepted explanation, and less then a legend, is founded in an ordinary phenomenon. It is said that when approaching, the hill rises sharply and then flattens at the top, as if it was a phantom hill. On my ride up to the fort, this perception made no sense to me. However, I can see how it might have appeared if a fog or heavy mist blanketed the top of the hill. Perhaps earlier settlers or explorers unfamiliar with the topography of mesas and buttes may have been deceived when arriving on the flat top and considered it 'phantom-like'.

Regardless, the blazing sun and strangling humidity that afternoon dissuaded any perceptions of the fort or hill as a 'phantom'. Perhaps human imagination and the name fueled the prevalence of ghost legends in that area. For there were several more.

Claims exist that the fort is haunted: by restless Indian spirits (despite the absence of altercations between the fort and Indians that passed by and visited), by an innocent man that was hanged near the fort and searches for his murderers, and the "Lady of the Lake."

Apparitions of a woman floating in the vicinity of the nearby lake have been reported as early as 150 years ago. Several versions of associated legends exist, including a wronged woman in love, a woman that accidentally shot and killed her husband and a Hispanic version of a "Lady" that haunts lakes and rivers throughout the Southwest. The immediate local has no shortage of legends and mysteries.

Another interest to me was the fort served as a station stop -1858 until the start of the Civil War- on the Butterfield Stage Trail. The old military road that connected Phantom Hill to its sister forts -Fort Griffin to the north and Fort Chadbourne to the south- ran through the middle of he fort and east of modern FM600. Butterfield arranged to use the still-standing stone guardhouse as the station house, a corral and log pole structure to house the mules for the stages. An older couple lived in the guardhouse to switch mules on the team and prepare meals for the teamsters and passengers. The closest neighbors were dozens of miles away.

Feeling the heat and humidity, I strolled back to the bike for some Gatorade. Before donning gear, I unzipped the bottoms of the pant legs off my convertible pants. These pants are the best things invented since tents. Almost thin as silk, they breathe and let any sweat evaporate away. The ability to instantly turn pants into shorts is a blessing on a hot humid day under bike gear.

With one last look around, I executed a perfect circle in the gravel and made my way back to the road to head south again. I had passed the Fort Phantom Hill cemetery on the way up and wanted to stop for a look-see.

 

[Mer]

Very nice! I love hearing the history of the old forts/buildings etc. The fort is a very cool place to hang out and take pictures! We went one time on a really cloud kinda scary day. It just added to the whole mystique. AWESOME! Thanks for sharing!

 

[TexasShadow]

Very nice! I love hearing the history of the old forts/buildings etc. The fort is a very cool place to hang out and take pictures! We went one time on a really cloud kinda scary day. It just added to the whole mystique. AWESOME! Thanks for sharing!

Thanks.
Judging from the morning fog and mist when I left, I expected, and hoped, that the weather would remain that way during my visit there for that reason. Unfortunately, it was just the opposite: hot, sunny and humid.

Now, Fort Chadbourne, on the other hand,....

 

[DaveC]

 

[TexasShadow]

Just south of the flattened top of Phantom Hill lies the cemetery. I was surprised to see the cemetery appeared full of modern headstones until I realized that the fort was not the only habitation on this hill.

As settlers flooded west new centers of communities arose. Because this region was on the southern migration route for the buffalo, an interesting economy followed in its wake. The Plains Indians historically followed the buffalo when horses appeared on the plains. No longer semi-permanent hunters and gatherers, their entire culture and economy revolved around the buffalo and moved with the herds. The Apache moved south into Texas, later followed by the Comanches who drove the former further south, even into Mexico.

The Indian's culture adapted to nomadic life and hunting the buffalo. The new Amercicans -or the Euro-Americans- swept across the Mississippi and onto the Plains competing for land and resources. Unlike the Indian perspective that viewed the buffalo as life sustenance, the new intruders saw the buffalo as money. Native peoples lived for thousands of years in a balanced population with North American buffalo (yes, a historical and projection analysis has modeled this), the white man nearly exterminated the entire US bison population in a matter of 18 years.

Every economy has associated niches of people. During the bison slaughter years, it was the buffalo hunters; individuals and small groups of men that ran down and shot dozens, hundreds of buffalo at a time, skinned and left the carcasses on the ranges to rot, loaded their bounty on wagons and piled them in towns at or near railroad stops to transport east. Many of these buffalo skin towns, as sometimes referred to, were near the forts.

Just like Fort Griffin, the small town that grew around the ruins of Fort Phantom Hill was a buffalo skin town. Any time a commercial enterprise stakes a location, associated entrepreneurs flock to establish their stakes in the financial flow. Such happened here. The town grew with a church, several general stores, blacksmith shops, makeshift bank, etc. Where ever people congregate, some of those people die. And, one of the surviving remnants of these ghost towns is the cemetery.

Phantom Hill is no longer a large community. It lost the bid for county seat to Anson, the railroad opened a depot south of the hill and people left. Now all that remains are scattered ranches, the cemetery, a new church and the fort ruins. So, it was not surprising then that more than half of the interred in the cemetery are from the mid-1900's to the present.

Several small primitive headstones suggest that earlier burials here are unmarked. The oldest stones are broken or markings have faded. A few still remain, and the oldest I found was Alexandras McCamant, born 1829.

Jesse, from Tennessee, and a Confederate, lived a long life:

These four headstones of the Cooper family depicted the tragedies and difficulties that faces most settler families: high prevalence of disease and illnesses, lack of accessible and modern medicine, high birth mortality, and just plain hard work to stay alive. Three Cooper children died within days, weeks and a few years of each other.

This was the most moving headstone I've seen in a long time. Modern, but very much intimate and full of family. Also, very hard to photograph in the glaring sun, but here's my attempt.

Not many cars traveled this road and it was quiet. With the heat and humidity, my energy was draining. Time to find camp and relax.

After gearing up again, I headed south to the modern world looking for a cold beverage and to check tire pressures. I found a 7Eleven on the I-20 frontage road and entered the air-conditioned store with a huge grin of relief. Walking towards the cooler in the back I noticed a freezer chest with ice cream.

Like a magnet, I quickly chose one and then gathered bottled water and a soda. Even before I was out the door, the ice cream was nearly devoured. So refreshing!!!

While checking tire pressures, a truck pulled up and a young Hispanic man leaned out the window.

"What kinda bike is that??"

After telling him he asked, "I bet that's pretty expensive, huh?"

His face lit up when I told him how much I paid for the bike back in 2006 with barely 700 miles on it. He looked over at his young wife with pleading eyes, "I bet that would be more comfortable for us both then the Ninja, no?"

He and his wife related how they spent the weekend near a lake riding on a Ninja. Neither had a good time; cramped, sore, no room to carry anything. I think another couple have been tempted to The Dark Side and assimilation.

After checking the map and the GPS for my route to the state park, I headed west then south. I followed the directions from the clerk for several miles, despite that the GPS didn't agree. A few miles south on 277, I decided to go my own way. I headed east on a rural FM road and turned south again on 89. Seeing a sign for 'Buffalo Gap 13 miles', I knew all was well and I would soon be there.

 

[TexasShadow]

Abilene State Park

Continuing south on Hwy 89, I approached the little town of Buffalo Gap. A few years ago the name had tickled my curiosity. "Buffal Gap"? A quick online research revealed the source of the name: a physical gap in a narrow line of mesas and hills called the Callahan Divide. Centuries ago it was a bottle neck for bison leaving the high plains to the more southern lower plains. The Divide also separates the Brazos and Concho Rivers, with Elm Creek and other lesser creeks winding through.

This area was a favorite hunting and camping ground for many Indian tribes. The creeks supplied water and the lush growth of large oaks provided shade and cooking fuel. And it was a favorite of the buffalo hunters.

Because it was a natural gap within the range of hills, many trails passed through: cattle trails north to south, military roads, and the Buffalo Gap Highway (now FM 89) surveyed in 1770's. The town grew and became the seat of the county until Abilene won the vote in the late 1800's. Ironically, the stone building that served as the original Taylor county seat in Buffalo Gap remains today.

FM 89 literally winds through the sleepy town with huge oak trees overhanging the road. I felt as though I were riding through a green tunnel and really enjoyed the 30 mph speed limit to make the pleasure last. The many restored houses and buildings marked as artisan and small specialty shops suggests that the town's primary income is tourism. I saw a sign directing towards the Buffalo Gap Historic Village, but didn't have the energy to investigate. Besides, it was getting late. Perhaps on my way back through.

The highway quickly resumes typical ranch country outside of the town and heads west-southwest. Finally I found a park sign, partly hidden by branches, for the state park. While I checked in at the front desk, I asked which shelter they recommended.

"Oh, this one here. It's closest to the woods and near the bathrooms."

Not knowing what to expect since this was my first visit, I reserved that one. Following the map and turning right at the fourth turn, a group of five shelters were nested next to and under tall trees. Several of these trees were dead, one leaning against a roof. I was glad that wasn't my shelter.

Gearing down to first, I slowly rode on the path leading to the shelters off the main park road. The path was half mud and half gravel, but the bike seemed to do just fine. I steered off the path to carefully glide to a stop on old fallen ash and pecan leaves near my shelter. On the safe side, I put my right foot down to test the ground. It was solid enough but those dried leaves were very slippery! I pushed leaves away from a spot on the right for my foot and on the left for the kick stand.

I soon realized my bad for forgetting to put the kick stand puck back in my tank bag. The stand's foot sank more than an inch in the dirt. I'd have to take care of that asap. But first, I needed to get out of these sweaty jacket and pants!

Immediately after unlocking the shelter door, I literally peeled my outer gear off me and hung them on nails inside to dry out. It was at least in the mid 90's with near 95% humidity; the air was thick. With shorts sticking to my body, I retrieved packed liners out of the side bags and decided I needed a cold shower. Now. At that moment, I was glad the restroom was so close to my shelter.

I pulled out the microfabric sleeping bag liner to use as a towel and headed for the building. The forceful cool water felt so good I was reluctant to turn the faucet off. Grinning, I held my thin-fabric shorts briefly under the shower and put them on. I knew they would dry quickly, but in the mean time, I could extend that cool water feeling.

My tank top was soaked from sweat. I rinsed that, too, but I knew the cotton material would not dry quickly and putting it back on would be a struggle. Hmm...... what to do. Then I remembered a trick I learned when I used to swim the remote lakes in Maine (aka skinny dip) and surprised by visitors. Take the long towel and wrap it around so that the ends were in front, then tie the ends. The long liner ended up looking like a serape; perfect.

When I left, still dripping (and didn't care), no one was around. Perfect. All the other shelters were empty and I had the place all to myself. For a little while. I unwrapped my torso and donned a T-shirt. By that time, the shorts were dry! Unloading the rest of my camping gear, I made camp. When I moved my boots, I noticed how wet they were inside from sweat. I decided then to take my socks and helmet beanie to the shower and rinse those out, too. Besides, I could get another cold shower. I hung everything on the bike to dry and laughed aloud at how the bike looks like a clothes dryer on my camping and long trips.

After setting up my sleeping spot and arranging space on the picnic table, it was time to eat before all light was lost. I had a package of dehydrated Jamaican Chicken to which I added water and made a cup of coffee in my little French Press. Ah, everything is fine.

I sat outside on the cement stoop and read a book for awhile until I noticed the sun going down. And saw color in clouds that had begun rolling in. Grabbing the monopod and affixing the camera, I strolled out onto the park road to see what I could catch.

And watched as the front literally rolled in above me. I especially took delight in how the edge of the front played catch with the moon.

I made my way back to the shelter in near total darkness, lit my candle and crawled into the bag. The night was still warm, but the wind suggested cooling off later on. I read until I couldn't focus my eyes anymore and fell asleep.

 

[ed29]

Nice stove.

Looks very similar to one I have!

 

[voyagerrider]

Elzi,
Great report as always. Can't wait for the next installment.
Marty

 

[TexasShadow]

Nice stove.

Looks very similar to one I have!

Same brand, but different model l(I think).

 

[TexasShadow]

Rain. Again.

I woke up while the sun was trying to poke its head above the horizon, surrounded by fog. Warm, damp, sticky fog and mist. I crawled back into my sleeping bag and shut my eyes.

Voices from the restrooms across the park road woke me. Crawling out of my sleeping bad, the barometer that is now a part of my right lower leg ached. My ankle didn't want to bend much. Oh well. I'll feed it coffee and see if it wakes up, like the rest of me.

I boiled water for a packet and half of oatmeal, sprinkled the bowl with dried cranberries and waited impatiently for the ground coffee beans to release their elixir in the coffee press cup. With a quarter cup of dried milk powder in another cup, I added cold water and stirred it into a white semi-liquid for the oatmeal and coffee. I ate unenthusiastically and slowly while staring at the fog outside.

Oh well..... I muttered again. I felt like a cross between Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh; excited about going to Fort Chadbourne and unexcited about riding in the falling wet sky. It was getting colder as I waited. Oh well; let's do it.

Getting to the fort was easy: turn left out of the park on Hwy 89, turn another left, south on Hwy 277 for about 40 miles or so. I can handle that. And I did, wiping mist from my fogged face shield and the mirrors. The top of my right hand was getting wet and cold; I need to adjust that hand gaurd. The water is blowing right off it and onto my hand, rather than over like the left. Oh well......

I spotted two cars turning left (today was 'Left Day') up ahead. Good thing they had their lights on and I could trail the red rear dots. I stopped at two tall figures in yellow skickers and cowboy hats, shoved a tenner donation in the cowboy boot in their hand, and wondered how I was going to park like the cars on the side.

"Don't bother parking here. Go up ahead and find a place closer. You can fit that 'cickle' in there somewhere."

I smiled, nodded a thanks and drove on. Everyone did a double take; a motorcycle in the rain? On a dirt road? I didn't pay no mind and kept going.

Then stopped in amidst a chaos of parked trucks, cars, trailers, vans,...... Where the......? I found a spot in front of a structure half constructed and wedged myself in there. I got several poorly hidden smirks as they watched me try to back up the bike with tippy toes on wet slippery mud. ThankyouverymuchIcandoitmyself. Thinking all the time 'Don't slip. Don't slip. Don't....'

Finally parked, -mostly, at least out of the way- and off, I peeled off a wet jacket, gloves and dug out my rain suit. Donned the rain jacket, which offered warmth right away, but kept riding pants and boots on. Then dug out the camera in the hip pack and monopod.

"Look at you! You're in a snow suit."

Thankyouverymuch. Offering weak smile, "I'm warm and dry and that's all the matters."

I started to make the rounds wondering what everyone else was doing in this cold mist. I soon found out.

More to come.

 

[TexasShadow]

Fort Chadbourne is an interesting history of success. More so in present times than from conception in 1851 and through the following century. As mentioned in this thread's post on Fort Phantom Hill, Chadbourne was the next fort south in the second line of western frontier defense. This fort and its more northern siblings were located primarily to defend the oncoming western wave of pioneers and settlers.

However, these forts served other purposes: defend the military, mail and emigration routes, protect supply lines and 'jump offs', and extend a prominent US presence in territory still contested and heated near the Rio Grande border. The latter was more important towards the south, whereas another purpose towards the north was to protect reservation Indians from marauding and greedy whites (yes, both Anglos and Indians were guilty of marauding and depredation).

Fort Chadbourne was located on sites similar to other forts: on well drained soil, on top of hills and in close proximity to a water supply. Or so they thought. Recommendations for sites were based on Capt. R. Marcy's expedition several years earlier. He must have traveled through west and southwest Texas during an unusually wet year. Many locations where he recorded ample water supply nearby were dry or brackish for the next decade. Several forts suffered from no access to reliable and healthy water and doomed more than a few (such as Fort Phantom Hill, and later, Fort Chadbourne).

Fort Chadbourne's story was in many way similar to most other Texas forts: established in 1852, it grew from a temporary camp of canvas tents and picket-style mud and log structures to several solid buildings made of stone. Most permanent fort buildings followed a general standard of architecture set by government draftsmen. Flexibility was granted to the official in charge in use of indigenous building materials: adobe or stone. One of the stone structures at Chadbourne served as a stop and station on the Butterfield Stagecoach route.

The fort was occupied by several military units until the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861 and the federal forts were surrendered to the Confederacy. After the War, federal troops returned to briefly occupy several of the second-line forts, but Chadbourne was ordered to to be evacuated due to lack of water supply. Ironically, just as with Fort Phantom Hill, man-made reservoirs now supply nearby communities with reliable clean water.

Garland Richards and his family grew up playing and riding dirt bikes in and around Fort Chadbourne grounds. Richard's ancestor established a cattle ranch -the O-D Ranch, and later called Chadbourne Ranch- in 1876 that covered land in several nearby counties. The Fort was the ranch headquarters.

Recognizing the historical significance after college, Richards and his wife established the Fort Chadbourne Foundation with intent to stabilize, archive and preserve the heritage and buildings on the old fort grounds. The land upon which the fort stands was donated to the Foundation and now, for the first time since 1876, the fort is open to the public.

Since 1999 with the aid of millions of grant and donation monies, all ruins have been stabilized and several buildings restored and renovated. All this is the due to a man with passion for the preservation of history and its legacy. Rather than just dream and talk about it, he made it happen. I was fortunate to have an escort with commentary by Garland Richards' boyhood friend and fellow construction helper, as well as a visit with Garland himself. I will share some of the details in the next posts.