Badlands?

Thursday, Sept 3^rd was quite a day. The delights began when we pulled into the Crossroads café on route 200 in Killdeer to have some breakfast.

 While waiting for our eggs and coffee we struck up a conversation with Bob and Alma Hansen, natives of North Dakota who owned a ranch nearby, as well as a small house in town. 

All through breakfast we chatted and at some point they asked if we had time for them to show us their ranch. Although I was seeing the badlands for the first time and setting up camp in the North section of Teddy Roosevelt Park today, I knew this was an opportunity not to be missed. Bob and Alma were delightful conversationalists and old enough (she is 90, he is 83) to have gathered more than a few tales concerning this fascinating part of North Dakota. In fact Bob had worked in soil management, as well as running a grain elevator and ranching, so he had quite a bit of knowledge about the geography of the land, as well as it’s history.

So, we stepped into their 4-wheel drive Chevy and off we went happily listening to their life histories and tales of the western part of N. Dakota. At some point we started up a dirt road over one of the ubiquitous low grassy hills and as we came over the peak, there were gasps from Anneli and I – which delighted but did not surprise our guides. There was our first looks at the extraordinary buttes and valleys that make up the badlands. 

For the next hour we wound our way through these amazing vistas and finally came to the top of a butte that overlooked a wonderful green valley, filled with cedar, through which the Littler Missouri River wound its way slowly. It was a vision of surpassing beauty. This was their ranch! And how rightly proud they were of it.

Having left Bob and Alma with an exchange of addresses and that wonderful feeling that comes from having been welcomed by strangers into a bit of their life, we arrived at the park.

The park center was closed but we were lucky to run into a ranger who was just leaving. He gave us a map and directions to the campground, told us where we could find some deadfall wood for our fire and generally made us feel welcome. 

Winding our way up the dirt road that runs to the campground, some 4 miles into the park, we came across numerous road reconstruction sites being paid for by Obama’s Recovery Act. (In fact, driving through Michigan and Minnesota we had seen ample evidence of the many projects being done with our money. And all of them were sorely needed. It is somewhat disheartening to see how little care we have given to our roads, bridges and highways in the past decade. However, it is encouraging to know that we are finally beginning the long and expensive task of fixing this.)

 

As we pulled into the campground area, which lies along the river, once again, we were left gasping by the site of a dozen or more American Bison lolling around in the picnic area. We did not stop to take pictures, knowing we would be here for several days and had ample time for that. We choose a very lovely site, away from the main area, which had a few tents and RVs. The campgrounds were not crowded and there were no other campers in the area we choose. As we were setting up, three white tailed deer – a mature doe, a young doe and a young buck came through the trees and began grazing in the grass just 40 feet or so from out site. They were not concerned with our presence at all and hung around for a half hour or so.

 

As sun set, the moon was full and very large throwing enough light to walk around without a flashlight, casting shadows of the trees on the road and generally creating an impression of being in a place where elves and other mystical creatures might feel right at home.

 

This morning, as I walked around this part of the campground, enjoying my coffee, I pondered the odd name of “badlands.” I know that was what The Dakota Sioux called this area and I wondered why? I suppose that being used to the plains with its thousands of miles of open grassland, huge herds of Bison and ample populations of elk and deer, these steep buttes and cedar filled valleys must have seemed a bit confining and not as fertile as the lands they choose to call home. However, I also imagined what it would have been like if a group of apaches had found their way up here. These buttes, so like the mesas of their native southwest only filled with game and trees and with various small pockets of water and the occasional river running through would have seemed to the apache as if they had wandered into the place where the Great Spirit had created a land of milk and honey. I doubt they would have called this the “badlands.”