The Trip to Gettysburg

In August of 2018, I finally had a solid week off of work. Rather than spend time around the house wondering what to do next, or get started on that ever-elusive novel, I decided to take that trip to Gettysburg I'd been talking to people about for the last few years.

I went online and reserved a hotel room, not too expensive but a notch or two above dirt cheap. I went to Hertz and rented a car for the journey. My vehicle was fast closing in on 9 years old and had broken the 100,000 mile barrier. I felt that a 500 mile trip might be asking too much of it at this point in its life. I had indicated a preference for a sedan, but when the day came I was greeted with a new, black Toyota 4-Runner. They were out of sedans and I was given a free upgrade. After about 30 minutes of fumbling around with this new type of vehicle, I was finally on my way.

Rochester was cloudy as I set off, but the further south I went, the more the skies cleared. Soon it was warm in the cabin, so I turned on the a/c. Southern tier hills replaced the flat landscape near Lake Ontario, and I crossed into Pennsylvania, the first time in many years. I was on route 15 south, and recalled that the last time I was on this route was when my mother and I moved to western New York from Delaware in summer, 1976. At that time though, we were traveling north. Still, it all looked very familiar. For a while on that stretch of road, I was that morose boy again, on the cusp of adolescence, wondering why my life could be so easily turned upside down at the whim of adults. My protests counted for nothing at the time. I stopped at a gas station in Williamsport that was startingly familiar to me. Route 15 is a split route, however, with both directions on separate roads that run parallel. We wouldn't have stopped here going north. I must've remembered it from a later trip back to Delaware in 1982, which was taken by my grandmother, my cousin, and me.

I knifed through the rugged peaks of the Allegheny Mountains, shrouded in patchy storm clouds. Fat rain drops spattered my windshield for a few minutes, before the sun dramatically reappeared. It was a Tuesday, so traffic was nominal. The road was winding, now climbing, now descending, through the terrain. There were small towns now and then. I passed one as I edged closer to Harrisburg. I don't recall its name, but I could recall passing by it 42 years before. It didn't look as if it had changed one bit in all that time, except that its population had likely decreased. There was a large restaurant that looked like it had just closed down for good.

Wending around Harrisburg, I sped down the last miles to my destination. The land flattened out again and the road surface lightened to concrete. Farmland on both sides. I had left 15 before the state capital, and was now in virgin territory. I hit the exit for Gettysburg and slowly entered town, staying alert for my hotel on the right.

The hotel turned out to be a good choice. It was close enough to be within walking distance of the town center. The road it was on was incredibly busy. The line of cars and, especially truck traffic, was almost unceasing. Fortunately, it quieted down at night.

I had no real plan to explore the battlefield. I was unprepared for its sprawl. There are really several battlefields that make up the whole. I went to the national park the day after I arrived and took the bus tour. It lasts two hours, but we only stopped three times to listen to the guide explain what happened at the site. Though worth taking, I knew I would have to drive back through to explore areas we had passed by, and others we didn't even see.

View of the Devil's Den from Little Round Top

This is how I got most of my pictures. Some areas deeply resonated because I'd  heard of them. There was the Devil's Den, a cluster of large boulders that confederates used to hide in and which stood at the base of a well-defended union position. Snipers from both sides took shots at each other as the lines shifted. I could almost smell the sweat of desperation of soldiers from both sides as they peered down their rifle sights, looking for targets. The area overlooking the Den was Little Round Top, a position taken by union troops just as the confederates were storming its summit. It's optimal high ground in the area and was coveted by both sides.

View of Little Round Top from the Devil's Den

There was the Peach Orchard, and a farmhouse that stands there to this day. You can still see the hole created by the southern cannonball that pierced the brick wall and created

The Peach Orchard farmhouse's cannonball hole

havoc inside. The farmhouse was the headquarters for a union general, who was wounded by another cannon shot not far outside the structure.

Most solemn though was a site in the midst of Pickett's charge, the fateful attack that decided the outcome. It's called the Angle, often referred to by troops at the time as the Bloody Angle. Here, confederate troops momentarily broke through the union line. Withering artillery and rifle fire from the union units to the rear of this line successfully beat back the intrusion, however. It took a grievous toll on the rebels, and ultimately broke the back of Lee's advance. I stood for several minutes at the site of the carnage. With a summer breeze rustling the leaves of the lone tree there, and the other tourists a ways off, I read the plaque mounted there, and imagined the suffering that took place in that small space. Emotion welled up, and I said a short prayer for those who had fallen or were wounded. The war seemed to be condensed at that spot, all of its pain and lingering consequences balanced precariously on the point of the Angle. Reflecting on the state of the country now, I tried not to think it was all for nothing.

View from the union side of the Angle

I could have spent days there, tracking over the rest of the battlegrounds, finding every stone unit marker that littered the landscape. Sites where officers took their last breath; the starting lines for charges; artillery emplacements. I didn't find them all, but I found enough that it brought the war all the way from 1863 to my present. I spent three days there, and they were all similar to those sweltering July days of the battle. When I got home, I felt like I could understand the country a little bit better, though that doesn't mean I'm still as confident in our ability to live up to the ideals we profess to have.