A long walk at Chickmauga

The S. Carolina Monument.
Horseshoe Ridge is just
inside the trees behind the
monument.

My two days at the Chickamauga National Military Park were very interesting, as you might imagine. The staffers at Chickamauga, from the Rangers to the book store folks, have been very helpful each time I have visited and this time I met Jim Ogden, the park historian.

I was able to go through the files concerning the Confederate unit my ancestor served in and made copies of a number of items which will help me a great deal down the line. Ogden himself is a walking, talking encyclopedia on the subject and he set my thinking straight on several questions I had. I have a much better understanding of the flow of events surrounding my ancestor and the role he played. Ogden is obviously passionate on the topic and it was a joy to listen to him detail how and where I might find more information. This guy knows his stuff.

A Union marker in the foreground
and a Confederate marker behind
it along Horseshoe Ridge.
 One of the last images I captured
before my long walk began.

I trekked around the Park again, just as I did in 2010, but this time I managed to get myself off on the wrong trail and I got lost. Big time lost. Lost as in, “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m still in Georgia, but I’m not positive.” That kind of lost. I recalled the old Cheech and Chong bit: “I know exactly where we are going. We are going downhill.”

This was a Gilligan’s Island deal. I started out walking down a path along Horseshoe Ridge where I have been before. I spent about 20 minutes walking and Nikoning my way along the Ridge before I decided to head back. Three hours later, having walked off Park land and strolled along the middle of a highway in order to stop traffic and ask for directions, I returned to the car. The little stroll included a visit to the Visitors Center and then a final foot-cruise back to the rental car. My 20-minute walk had become a tour (hence the Gilligan reference). My boots split, I acquired a blister on each foot and my shoulders were sore.

The spot, just inside the tree line,
where Confederate General Hood
was wounded.

My shoulders, you ask? How could they be sore? Well, I had taken the opportunity to bring my big, heavy photo backpack with all my equipment for the Ridgeline frolic.

All this on a nice, comfy 90-degree day.

At the end, I arrived in the vicinity of my rental car pretty well worn out. I was a little angry with myself when I arrived at a choice of pathways. Turning right and following the paved road would be a longer distance, maybe 3/8 of a mile to the car and all uphill. Walking straight meant following the path that some of Archibald Gracie’s men took when they stormed the Union line on Hill 1 of Horseshoe Ridge. This was STRAIGHT up an unpaved hill, but a much more direct path to the car.

Gracie's Hill...and mine.

Yes, of course I climbed the hill straight up. This was the path Gracie’s men took. They were from Alabama and I was wearing an Alabama shirt. I charged dramatically.

Truthfully, rather than charging, I sort of lunged. Well, okay, I leaned forward a lot and I had to stop twice. But I made it.

I’m just glad nobody was shooting at me.

Thanks for reading.