DATE: Sunday, November 16, 1997             TAG: 9711130326

SECTION: CAROLINA COAST          PAGE: 2    EDITION: FINAL 

COLUMN: SONG OF A SAILOR 

SOURCE: Ronald Speer 

                                            LENGTH:   62 lines

DARING TREK BY LEWIS AND CLARK A REMINDER OF ANCESTOR'S COURAGE

A TWO-NIGHT TRIBUTE on public television to Meriwether Lewis and William Clark for their daring exploration of the Louisiana Territory was an uplifting reminder of what man - and woman - can do if they set their minds to it.

It also showed how new is our nation. My grandfather's grandfather was born about the time the Virginians made their bold trek up the Missouri River, over the Rockies and down the Columbia River to the Pacific Ocean - and back.

The story about the three-year trip over harsh, uncharted lands also reminded me of why I live on the Outer Banks and not the Sand Hills of Nebraska, which was part of the Louisiana Purchase in 1803.

The deal doubled the size of our nation and led to the spread of the United States from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

The land was bought from France for $15 million, fewer dollars than Currituck County is paying for its new high school.

About 80 years after Lewis and Clark completed their journey, my grandfather, Albert Speer, at the age of 15, walked with his father and their two cows 100 miles from the train terminus at Valentine, Neb., to claim a homestead on the prairie.

There were no trees, no towns, no residents except roving Sioux Indians, soldiers at Fort Robinson and cowboys on an occasional sprawling, unfenced ranch.

My grandfather lived alone in a hillside cave that first winter in the Sand Hills, while his father went back to Iowa to get the rest of the family. They built a sod house, and that homestead has grown into a cattle spread of several thousand acres, run by my cousin, Wayne Speer.

And to this day the land has changed little. My cousin can ride for miles without seeing another house. The winters are still fierce, with shrieking winds, and the summers are searing, with little precipitation. (Old-timers say that in biblical times, when it rained 40 days and 40 nights, ``the Sand Hills got a quarter of an inch.'')

Lewis and Clark reported that winter temperatures dropped to 45 degrees below zero. I spent my last winter in Nebraska in 1977 - and it was relatively warm, with a low reading of only 26 below.

At those temperatures, oil becomes so sluggish that car, tractor and truck engines won't turn over, iced watering tanks must be broken open for cattle every few hours, and a 40 mph wind feels like a knife ripping any exposed flesh.

I never worried about the weather when I was growing up. I thought everybody faced the kind of challenges endured or conquered by Lewis and Clark.

Then I spent time on the West Coast and in Georgia and Florida, and when I returned to Nebraska at the age of 40 I wondered why my ancestors didn't keep going west, to places like Washington and Oregon and California, where there's an ocean offering opportunities to make exotic trips, and the biggest challenge isn't to keep from freezing.

I lasted four winters, and then came to the Atlantic coast where I've lived the good life for 20 years.

But my youth on the stark, lonely prairie that was once a part of the Louisiana Territory leaves me convinced that Lewis and Clark and their Shosone woman guide, Sacajawea, rank with history's greatest explorers.

Their roadless journey up raging rivers, over towering mountains, through warring native tribes - without any contact with home - remains an awesome example of the courage and determination of our ancestors.

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