We’d been here before, these Badlands in South Dakota, We’ve passed through them several times, stopping for a day, perhaps a few hours. The connotation is not a positive one...Badlands...Mako Sika (The Sioux name for them). One should avoid them if their “Bad”. One of my friends commented that they’re not bad, they’re just naughty. Naughty or nice, or just plain bad, we planned to spend a few days here this time and really get to know them. It’s a short hour and a half drive from Rapid City.
Whereas we have tended over the past two years not to make reservations ahead of time, this stop demanded we do so. The National Parks are always booked up in advance and the Badlands is no exception. The campground for large rigs like ours within the park is a nice one It’s not very large and it’s situated near some of the main attractions and trails. We set up shop there for two days and began to explore. The White River borders the southern end of the Park and this time of year it is very low and barely running. It reminds me of the Platte River in Nebraska. It’s very wide and shallow. But, considering there is no other running water nearby it is a mecca for wildlife.
The other boundaries of the Park are vast prairies. Images of buffalo and Plains Indians are not hard to see in the mind’s eye. In fact, the first thing you notice as you approach the Park from the North through the National Grasslands is...buffalo. We’re used to seeing them in unnatural settings, like a zoo or a funky preserve in the Midwest somewhere. Here, on the vast prairie where they are truly at home, they stand resolute and proud, lording over the rolling hills and oceans of grass. I am drawn to their large brown eyes that follow you warily from behind their strong, shaggy shoulders. I just stared and watched them intently and admiringly, my mind wondering back to what it must have been like here in this timeless place long before travel here was a pastime and not a necessity.
War parties of US cavalry and Lakota Sioux ran rampant through here just 140 years ago. Considering my age, that’s not that long ago indeed. Various bands of Sioux have been “given” reservations here, with names that are familiar if not infamous. Wounded Knee, Cheyenne River Reservation, Rosebud, Standing Rock, Pine Ridge, Yankton, Oglala, Brule, Fort Fetterman, Powder River, are a few of the names that carry with them the scars of the Sioux wars and the history of conflict between whites and Sioux. There are many other place names here, known mostly only to the Sioux people, that hearken back to other conflicts with rival tribes and bands as well as famous feats of courage and skill that used to be recorded on buffalo skin for posterity. Maybe it’s just my over-active and imaginative mind but I swear I can feel the presence of those ghost warriors.
Diane and I decided to take a 4 mile hike through the Badlands. It was an easy hike with very little elevation gain. The panorama and vistas were magnificent. Not unlike the Badlands of North Dakota and Montana that we visited last Fall, the sights of natural erosion sculpted by wind and rain, ice and snow, are eye-popping. This is “big sky country” where the vistas go on forever into the distance. At one point we rounded a small hill and came abruptly upon three Big Horn Rams feeding on the sparse grass. We were within 10 feet of these creatures before we knew they were there. Unfazed, they continued feeding while occasionally rolling their eyes and massive heads over in our direction. I’d never been that close to these intimidating animals. They seem to be pure muscle and much larger than I ever thought they were. I’d only seen them in the past at a great distance where the ripples of their muscular bodies vanish with the softening of distant focus. This was a moment, one of those times in life when you really appreciate being alive on this planet...truly alive and in the moment.
Later that evening we drove out on one of the dirt roads from the main thoroughfare perhaps some 6 or 7 miles. We came across a large and permanent prairie dog town. The little critters were skittering all over the place warning each other of our invasion. They ran from hole to hole and chirped their incessant warning cries. Their village must have covered 40 or more acres. The views from our various vantage points along the dirt road at sunset were beyond inspirational. The long shadows and amber light of evening cast against the eroded escarpments and valleys were as brief moments in time captured by our mind’s lens for hopefully the rest of our lives. One of the blessings of retirement that I’m most fond of is not having to “be somewhere” by morning...not having to rush off to get back to work, back home. Where we are we are. Wherever we are is home now. We can linger. And, linger we did.
The next day we planned to stay at a semi-popular area set aside for boon-docking a the northern border of the Park that is actually in the National Grasslands. High on a ridge that runs north to south for about a mile, situated over a badland canyon to the east, there are many spots for parking an RV. The views are tremendous up there. Buffalo and Bighorn Sheep share the area, keeping a decent distance from the hulking RV’s. But...when we arrived there a ferocious wind had arrived too. This was not your typical 20-30 MPH wind event. This was a terrific sustained wind of way more than 40 MPH. Jumping out of the motor home I felt as if I couldn’t stand straight up without leaning at something like a 30 degree angle into the wind. There was no way we could stay up there. I actually believe that a good gust could blow an RV over and into the canyon below. No hyperbole! It has happened here before. If nothing else, sand and dust would definitely infiltrate every nook and cranny of our home. Though we didn’t stay there I would recommend this spot highly if you ever visit the Park. It’s free as well, though there is no water or electric service up there. Cell coverage is excellent though as there is a cell tower right at the entrance to the park located at the bottom of the hill we were on. The next time we visit, barring monster winds, you’ll find us perched up there camping.
The next day we drove across South Dakota all the way to Sioux Falls where I had booked us two nights at Palisades State Park. This is a wonderful yet small park that is framed by the Sioux River. There’s lots of privacy as the camp sites are enclosed by trees and large boulders. Turkeys are plentiful and flop around the trees like flying bricks. Unsure of their flying ability in heavy tree cover they crash through limbs comically trying to clutch any secure safe harbor that can hold their weight. The river itself is a muddy, slow-flowing prairie water that has cut itself a path through the “pinnacles” of reddish granite. It’s a very different scene that is a great respite for the locals and those “in the know” of this little gem. It is recorded that Jesse and Frank James followed this little river through the canyon here on their way back to Missouri after their disastrously failed Northfield, Minnesota bank robbery attempt. Used to seeing signs all over the Midwest that tell, “Jesse James slept here” or some other such tourist hook, I was a bit skeptical. But, after some research, it seem logical to me that they did indeed use the river as a partial pathway back to western Missouri. After all, that’s exactly what we are doing.
Nearby in the little town is a fantastic restaurant located in an unassuming old renovated building in the “downtown” section of town called, “Oh, So Good”. For once, a name of a restaurant actually captures what the food is. Diane had a lamb dish that almost defies description with Brussel sprouts as one of the sides. She continually stopped to utter gustatory exclamations of delight. I had a Cajun seafood pasta that was the best dish of this type I ever ate. Seriously! Being Covid-19 season and this part of the nation having a high infection rate, we got take-out. The last thing we want to do is bring any infection to our kids or friends. This was a memorable meal we’ll not soon forget. If you happen to be in southeastern South Dakota DO NOT MISS this gem of an eatery.
Driving on to Missouri we passed all the memorable sights and towns of our past. We drove down the Missouri River valley, that historic river with its origins north of Yellowstone that Lewis and Clark explored those 200 plus years ago. The land of the Osage and Daniel Boone who was enticed here when he grew tired of the crowds in Kentucky. The land of German Immigration in the early 1800’s.
Close by St Louis is an interesting little camp called Graham Cave State Park. Graham Cave was excavated and dissected in the 1940’s and 1950’s through the early ‘60’s. Artifacts dating back 10,000 plus years were located here and in the surrounding hills This made for a great stopping point before we landed in our new home of two weeks on the 1st of October at Babler State Park in west St Louis County. Graham Cave State Park is bordered by the Loutre River, yet another slow moving and muddy stream plodding towards its junction with the Missouri. As I mentioned, people have passed through here hunting and holing up in the cave for millennium after millennium, I suppose as long as people have inhabited North America. Now we, in our 2005 Motor home, were holed up here as well. While many things rotate and change with the Earth’s seasons, some things just remain the same.
Landing at Babler State Park we reviewed our schedule for the next two weeks. Annual doctor visits, much-needed reunions with friends and most importantly, seeing our son and his beautiful family. We’ve been so looking forward to seeing them and our times together did not disappoint. Hiking in the woods, cooking dinner outside, laughing together, telling stories...quality family time cannot be beat. We think again about settling down again, maybe being close to the grandkids. But, we’re not ready. Diane and I seem to have been born to run. We love our family and there is a time coming when we will be “around” a lot more. (perhaps more than our kids want us to be)
Truthfully, Diane and I often feel we have never been this close and we are getting along together great. We have shed ourselves of most of the “things” that have held us down throughout the past. Things...that you buy and then store. Things...that you think you need but you really don’t. Things...that you think will make you happy, but really don’t. What we have kept close is ourselves, our family and friends, our Conestoga wagon...our motor home, and the great outdoors in this country that is still free to explore. At least for now.