I'll always remember the night I was packing for our venture to Little Missouri National Grassland in North Dakota. Since I don't have television, the radio kept me company, and there seemed to be only one program available on all the stations: Princess Diana had just died in a car crash...

Next morning we headed west on I-94, and unfortunately I'll also remember that for a long time. I can't ever recall a more tedious journey in my life! The interstate seemed interminable, the land exceedingly repetitious, and highway rest stops were few and far between (unlike what's available in neighboring states). Avoiding the freeway would have improved things considerably, I'm sure, but we were in a hurry to get out west and decided to put up with a couple days of monotony to that end.

The Colorful Badlands of North Dakota

From Alexandria, Minnesota to Dickinson, North Dakota (about 400 miles) the interstate lulled us like the swinging pocket watch of a mesmerist. And then, wham...with the sharp snap of fingers we were awoken abruptly. The earth opened up into a crazy scene straight out of Dante — we were now entering the weirdly colored badlands of North Dakota, a predominant feature of the Little Missouri National Grassland. This is the terrain that Theodore Roosevelt so loved, made up of tables, buttes, knolls, hills, coulees and every other type of 3-D feature you can think of, and painted in every color imaginable. Of the badlands here, Teddy said, "they look like Poe sounds," and it's the truth.

The Little Missouri National Grassland lies just east of the Montana/North Dakota border. This is our nation's largest grassland at over 1 million acres. Tucked inside it is Theodore Roosevelt National Park, itself a gigantic expanse of land. From what I saw, the Little Missouri appears to be primarily a mixed grass prairie. But what really sets it apart is the incredibly colorful geology. Unlike the Badlands of South Dakota which are pastel earth tones, the ones here are painted in bold reds, yellows, blacks and greens. Large veins of coal (some of which ignite from time to time!) and other minerals, see to it that all exposed edges are outlined in vivid strokes.

Very wisely, we arranged to visit here in the autumn. Few people were out and about, the air was cool and the grasses had begun to turn. I love prairies in all seasons, but there's no doubt they are in their fullest glory when autumn arrives.

As if there weren't enough hues already, the sky and water rounded things out with a wash of blues and violets. I don't know what it is about the sky in a prairie, but it really does look different. The canopy in a city scene is nothing more than a pallid backdrop, noticeable only when you actually look for it; out here it is the foreground, a giant vortex ever drawing you inward.

By the way, the water is the namesake Little Missouri River and is as pristine as any I've ever seen. The photo to the right gives some feel for how the palette of tints work in harmony, but you really need to come here, plop down in a lawn chair and stare for a couple hours to take in its true character. I can't think of a more rewarding activity, and the plot is far more interesting than any TV show.

Grasslands Need Friends

Grasslands in this country are continually under attack, even though they form the second largest and perhaps the most important of all biomes on Planet Earth. Usually, the assault is mounted by greedy and ignorant bureaucrats, whose only care is for the moment and what blood can be squeezed from the turnip. But consider the foresight of Theodore Roosevelt:

"We must handle the water, the wood, the grasses, so that we will hand them on to our children and children's children in better and not worse shape than we got them."

I find it especially interesting that he specifically mentioned the grasses; nowadays most government and business leaders act as though grasslands are unimportant wastelands, good only for what they can produce (like coal, oil, and other non-renewable resources), only to be discarded afterwards. Teddy's foresight was truly remarkable, but of course he served back in those halcyon days when presidents could actually read and write, got more than C's in school and were elected by the entire populace of the US (not the Supreme Court). For the record, Teddy was a Republican president...

But I digress. The Little Missouri is at risk from exploitation, obviously, but also from other unexpected evils. We were awoken one morning in the campground by the sound of helicopters. Asking around what was up, we learned that the National Park Service was spraying to control leafy spurge. This is a highly invasive plant, completely at odds with the indigenous species that grow here. It's hard to tell what to think. On the one hand, the habitat of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and hence the surrounding grassland, could be ruined by this foreign plant. But on the other hand, Tordon (which on my list of favorite chemicals ranks somewhat near plutonium) is not what I like to have raining down on the environment. Interestingly, we bumped into a couple goons from a chemical company while hiking the Burning Coal Vein Trail that day, and they assured us the half-life of this toxin was negligible and that there was no danger at all. Hmmm...it makes me think of Robert Stack in the movie Airplane! when he claimed that flying a 747 is no different than riding a bicycle. Like the twin, white-shirted, necktied proselytizers who annoy you on your own door step, this pair spouted carefully rehearsed propaganda.

Hiking Among the Buffalo

But back to what's here. Much of our time was spent in the National Park, which as I mentioned is smack-dab in the center of the Little Missouri National Grassland. One particularly memorable jaunt was along the North Achenbach Trail. The hiking was a piece of cake, but getting to the trailhead was a real struggle. For a large herd of the ever present buffalo had decided to close down the access road. Well, we just pulled over to the side, made a good lunch and took in the spectacle for an hour or so.

Buffalo rarely make prompt decisions. I remember munching on Hy-Vee brand corn chips and a cold and crisp Braeburn apple while pondering the brutes.

When we did eventually get to the trail, we had it to ourselves and the view was spectacular. (Be sure to click the thumbnail above to expand the photograph to full size).

One of the hallmarks of our outdoor experiences that year was the perpetual harassment by the buffalo! Back in June, we had a Close Encounter Of The Third Kind at Custer State Park in South Dakota, which I'll describe elsewhere in these pages. Just in general, I don't think I would have cut it as a cowboy in the old West. If it isn't the buffalo setting my schedule, then it's unruly horses trying to dislodge me against tree limbs. (More about that later, too).

Because the Little Missouri is so cut off, and because many people erroneously think North Dakota is all uninteresting, and because this grassland is so enormous, it is possible to spend large chunks of time in the middle of nowhere without hearing another voice. After crawling through a gated entry on all fours (designed to keep buffalo from leaving the Park and grazing cattle from entering it) we set out on a quiet hike in another part of the grassland. As the picture to the right shows, the terrain is rugged and beautiful all at once. Actually, trees aren't all that uncommon here — one way or another. The scrappy and resilient redcedar pops up frequently, its roots hugging the surface of rock outcroppings, somehow finding water and nutrients with its veins bared to the raw elements.

And then there are the fossil trees; vast plains of petrified wood met our eyes on this hike. In some cases entire trunks of trees (ancestors of hackberries or something similar, I presume) stick out at impossible angles. Like I said earlier, this is a very weird environment.

Terrific Tenting in Teddy's Territory

After a hard day's trek, it's relaxing to return to camp for a little grub and a liquid strengthener, right? Wrong! When we got back that day, yet another herd of buffalo had decided to invade our camp site at the Cottonwood Campground in the South Unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park. They were milling around our tent and lawn chairs, and amazingly hadn't trashed anything. I guess they're more dainty on the hooves that I had first thought. Another camper told us he had been watching them investigate our site that afternoon and that they had in fact behaved quite civilly toward our belongings. Best of all, there were no pies in front of the tent door (which is what I expected, given my track record with quadrupeds). The picture below shows the gathering moving onward after it had sufficiently altered our schedule for the day. And what about that minivan — do you see the kitchen sink anywhere?

There are a few camp sites sprinkled around the Little Missouri National Grassland (outside the Park Service ones mentioned above). I wasn't too impressed with those I saw, however. In one case, the spots were close to one of the only paved roads in the area and seemed just a bit too prone to interference. The National Forest Service always makes the disclaimer in their materials that you may fall prey to storms, falling branches, dangerous animals, and unreasonable acts of other people. It's the latter which always concerns me...

On the other hand, the campgrounds in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park are spectacular. (And the Park Rangers pack side-irons, too, giving a certain sense of safety — after all, this is the wild west still.)

The picture to the right shows our spot at the Cottonwood Campground. I will always remember sitting here, watching the sun go down across the Little Missouri River and seeing a golden eagle repeatedly bringing tidbits to a youngster on the bluffs opposite.

I also remember a hippie family consisting of a man, woman and several kiddies setting up camp nearby. When sunset came, we could hear the soft strains of a flute, some chanting, and finger-taps of gentle bongo drums issuing forth. Who knows for sure, but my gut feeling was they dragged the Age of Aquarius in with them that night. One presumes their children were named Jasmine or Tasha or perhaps some multi-syllabic archaism from the Old Testament.

Go North to Really Get Away from it All

After spending several days here, we headed up to the North Unit for some more camping in a different setting. I probably don't have to mention the following; you will have guessed the running pattern by now. When we arrived, both of us needed to use the bathrooms, but of course...yet another gathering of buffalo had surrounded the kybos. Unbelievably, a large bull had laid down against the door of the men's room! The wait seemed even longer than usual.

Billy-Bob Goes Camping

At Cottonwood, we were amused to watch one of our neighbors, a visitor from the South judging by his drawl. He, his wife (presumably) and a couple coonhounds pulled up in a dilapidated RV. He promptly got out, popped open a Blatz and sat upon a picnic table, swinging his legs to and fro like a petulant toddler. He yelled to his partner, "Put in that Merle Haggard tape." She replied, "The cassette player's broke." And he vexedly shouted back, "Well, fix it!" Fortunately, no music ever bellowed forth.

The camping in the North Unit is just as good as where we had been the night before. In fact, my companion thinks it was better and that this may be the prettiest locus we've ever alighted upon in on our trips out west. Although she hasn't confessed it, part of this may be due to the large flock of Cedar Waxwings that were feasting on ripe berries; they're one of her favorite birds.

Previously called the Squaw Creek Campground (and appearing by that name on older maps), I believe recent political/linguistic issues were raised resulting in the new name of Juniper Campground. What I remember most about it was setting up the tent in fierce winds (successfully, I might add, with just a bit of patience and ingenuity), the glorious Aurora Borealis against the inky, star-studded sky and the repeated singing of very close-by coyotes. That howling will long stay with me — there's a lot to be said for sleeping outdoors in cowboy land.

I really did enjoy camping here, in both campgrounds North and South. Our neighbors were perhaps the sort you'd expect to see giving speeches at Hyde Park Corner in London some Sunday afternoon, but on the whole they were interesting to watch. However, I've saved the best for last. While at the North Unit, a guy arrived one night in an immaculately outfitted topper pickup. When he opened up the back, I could see that it had been custom outfitted with shelves, cubby-holes, racks, a bed, coolers, etc. Nice! Then he pulled out a satellite dish and carefully aimed it somehow at a point in the big sky. When walking to the kybo late that night, I noticed he was recumbent on his built-in bed, and that a pull-down TV set had been moved into place.

We met briefly the following morning, and I asked him what he thought of the coyote serenade and the northern lights exhibition over the night. He was unaware of either. Oh well, at least he saw the Badlands of North Dakota through a windshield, which is more than lots of people ever get to see.

• Federal
  • Forest Service Map Orders
  • Theodore Roosevelt National Park
  
  
• State
  • State of North Dakota Tourism
  
  
• Municipal
  • City of Medora
  
  
• Other Interesting Sites
  • Airplane!
  • Biography of Theodore Roosevelt
  • Cedar Waxwings
  • Grandaddy Grassland by Tom Domek
  • Leafy Spurge
  • Little Missouri National Grassland Butterfly Survey
  • Little Missouri Wildlife & Scenic Tour
  • National Wildlife Federation Grasslands Home
  • Northern Great Plains Management Plans Revision
    
  • Tordon Material Safety Data Sheet