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OCTOBER 2016 • NEBRASKAland 63 PHOTO COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR how much more embarrassed I could have been if my much overworked guardian angel had taken the day off. I was camped near Bridgeport for some reason I don't recall and, rising at dawn, decided to check on an old Indian legend I had heard about Courthouse Rock. (The same story is told about many other western Plains prominences but I had heard it most often about Courthouse Rock.) The story was that a large band of one tribe (I heard Lakota) had cornered a hunting party of another tribe (in my versions Pawnee) on top of the wedge-shaped sandstone landmark. During the night the trapped, and almost surely doomed party, cut up their clothing and made ropes, and let themselves down the steep southern cliff of the rock, leaving the would-be besiegers surprised the next day when they found they had nothing in their snare. Watching for snakes, I easily climbed the north slope of the Courthouse, crawled out to the edge of the top, and looked down the long, deep drop to the valley below. First, I was startled to find myself looking directly into two other very intense eyes about 20 feet below me, a golden eagle, the first I had seen. Next I was struck by how high I was above the valley, causing me to doubt the plausibility of the ancient legend. Finally I was stunned by the beauty of the valley below me. Legend or not, the view was worth the climb. I turned my eyes then to the east and another wonderful sight, Courthouse Rock's companion, Jail Rock. Wow. I sat atop Courthouse a long time admiring the valley and … Jail Rock. Upon reaching my car, I looked again at Jail Rock. (I could hear a faint voice saying, "No, Rog. Don't do it. Please don't be stupid. Get in your car and drive. You did what you wanted to do. Now go home. No. No! No!") I clambered to the base of Jail Rock. I looked up the deep eroded grooves in its side. Hmmm … I think I could climb this. And I did. It was now well past noon and I was hot and sweaty but feeling pretty smug once I stood on the remarkably small, relatively flat top of Jail Rock. I looked back at Courthouse Rock, getting a new perspective and again feeling downright adventurous and accomplished. And over there, toward Scotts Bluff I see … uh-oh … a big, angry, growling thunderhead. And it's moving fast. In my direction. Well, uh, time to do something I hadn't given much thought to: getting back down. There is a thing about climbing. Going up is hard of course, but you can see what is in front of you because there it is, right in front of your eyes. But going down a vertical cliff means your eyes can't see a thing. You need to see with your toes, a notably poor way to get a perspective. In fact, as I looked around the grooves reaching the top of Jail Rock, I couldn't even tell which one I came up. Sooo … what if I start down one, and it doesn't reach to the bottom and I am stuck half way, unable to go either up or down? On the other hand, the longer I stand here contemplating my stupidity, the closer the storm is coming, seething with lightning and now … spatters of huge rain drops on the rock. As dull-witted as I seemed to be at that moment, I could still understand that the longer I stood here, the more danger there was from lightning and the more slippery that vertical rock was getting. I honestly don't believe I've ever been that frightened in my life except maybe twice when courting Linda and once when meeting her father for the first time (he was at the kitchen table sharpening knives). But I took a chance, picked a possible downward exit, and slowly, painfully, drenched in sweat, fear, and rain, finally reached the bottom, where I used up a lifetime of prayers of gratitude. To this day I try to imagine what humiliation there would have been if the Bridgeport Volunteer Fire Department had had to raise ladders and ropes and pluck this poor dumb folklorist off of the top of Jail Rock. I have a feeling I would have made the front page of newspapers all over the Panhandle. The moral(s) of the story is, climb Nebraska. It's worth the trouble. But don't even think about Jail Rock. And if you're as old and out of shape as I am, you'd best restrict your Nebraska mountain climbing to a summer assault on the north face of Panorama Point. ■ Roger Welsch is an author, humorist and folklorist. He has appeared in NEBRASKAland Magazine since 1977. Panorama Point in Kimball County is the highest natural point in Nebraska. Courthouse and Jail rocks in Morrill County. PHOT PHOT PHOT PHOTO CO O CO O CO O COURTE URTE URTE URTESY O SY O SY O SY OF TH F TH F TH F THE AU E AU E AU E AUTHOR THOR THOR THOR PHOTO BY ERIC FOWLER PHOTO BY JUSTIN HAAG