The Oglala National Grassland owes me one! This wonderful shortgrass prairie in northwestern Nebraska is at once beautiful and unruly. As you'll see, the Oglala connived several times to dislodge me (like those damn horses I always seem to get stuck with on the trails). But I'm not giving up yet and I fully intend to master it. The effort to do so will be more than worth it, for in fact this is number two on my list of favorite National Grasslands. Let me see if I can explain its allure and its tempestuous nature.

My First Venture to the Oglala

I first became aware of the Oglala National Grassland back in July of 1994, almost by accident. A girlfriend and I had been scheduled to explore Nebraska together at this time, but rather unexpectedly that relationship came to an end a month earlier. To my mind, the vacation was still on the books so I headed out alone to see what this fascinating state was all about. (Anyway, I was recently out of work and needed a little R&R to recharge my batteries). Eventually I ended up at nearby Fort Robinson for several days camping. It was there, at its Trailside Museum, that I learned of the weird moonscape to be found in the Oglala National Grassland. There were also "mammal warnings" posted, the first I had ever heard of such a thing. The alert was to the effect that temperatures of up to 120 degrees on the rocks were expected. Despite this, I made the half-hour drive to the trailhead after loading up on drinking water.

What I beheld on that roasting and brilliant day stunned me. I had always thought the Badlands of South Dakota were about as wicked as any land could be, but the terrain here was even badder! Because of the insane heat and sun, and the fact that I was alone, I only performed a half-mile reconnaissance, drinking half-a-gallon of water in that interval. The deadly temperatures had rebuffed me this time, but I vowed to come back someday under better conditions to further explore.

An Unhappy Tent

And so some five years later, and this time with a companion, I made my return. To set the stage for what follows, let me mention that we were gradually working our way home from an expedition to the Roosevelt National Forest in Colorado. The last night there the mercury plummeted to 18 degrees or so and an unstoppable, brittle wind carrying sleet and snow whistled down the St. Vrain Creek valley, snapping the heavy fiberglass poles in our tent like match sticks. We were definitely ready to warm up, so several days later found us at the campground in the Oglala National Grassland. Our smiles in the photo here, taken a day later, seem to suggest we were in Arcadia. (By the way, this picture was caught by a tripod mounted camera under control of a timer; apart from the pronghorn who occasionally passed by, we had the campground to ourselves.)

But the Oglala National Grassland is as fickle as they come. When we rolled in that afternoon, storm clouds assumed their places and then it began to rain...and rain...and rain. Now don't get me wrong. I love rain and I especially love camping in such weather. Can anything be more seductively relaxing than the tap-tap of drops on the roof of a tent? We hastened to set it up so that we could enjoy the music. Some clever surgery involving duct tape and a rod from our charcoal grill had spliced the splintered poles well enough to get us through the last couple of nights. But unfortunately they were now giving out and weren't up to the task of lifting the tent to its usual lofty position; the shredded threads of fiberglass spun around in our hands like a stiff braided rope unwinding. This was a pretty clear omen. Well, discretion is the better part of valor, so...

Our Oasis in the Oglala

Now earlier that day, at Agate Fossil Beds National Monument, the ranger had mentioned she'd heard about a newish place in the Oglala called the High Plains Homestead. I was a bit dubious of her report, since it seemed inconceivable to me that a bunkhouse and cookshack could exist so far off the beaten path. But, we were only several miles from where it was supposed to be and so we packed up our dilapidated tent and decided to check it out.

Lo and behold — the rumors were accurate! We in fact located the place, and in the nick of time, for the rain was really pummeling us now. We found out the following morning that well over two inches had fallen that night, nearly one-fifth the annual total! The High Plains Homestead was our safe haven. Unfortunately, this all happened near the end our two week journey; we were both running low on greenbacks and traveller's checks, and were pretty much down to credit cards only. I need hardly mention that plastic was not of much use out here. We explained our plight to the wonderful owners, and they met us halfway. The usual fee included breakfast. But they agreed to chop the price down a bit if we didn't take meals here. We were able to scrape up the required amount, and had Hy-Vee Tasteeos from our hamper for breakfast.

I don't know if my descriptions can really do justice to the High Plains Homestead, but I'll give it a try. First of all, it truly is way off the beaten path; the owners claim that the nearest stop light is over 40 miles away! A spider web of unpaved roads between the Pine Ridge and the Oglala National Grassland takes you here.

Beautifully constructed of rough hewn lumber, the bunkhouses are also extremely rugged, which reassured us as the rain and wind picked up. When I first peeked inside, my breath was taken away. For here was an immaculately decorated guest room. The motif was pioneer in spirit and yet the lodging was outfitted with every convenience you could possibly desire, including built-in heat and a sparkling shower. The cookshack down the boardwalk was equally impressive. One thing I remember, though, is that the water had an extremely pungent brimstone flavor. I'm not an H2O snob by any means, but I brushed my teeth with some leftover hiking water. In any event, I can really recommend the High Plains Homestead should you ever end up out here. See the link below for more details.

A Peaceful Day in the Grassland

The following day cleared off quite nicely. So we hightailed it to Chadron and found some replacement poles for our sorry tent at a Wal-Mart. We were back at the campground by early afternoon. A little later, we had a functional tent at our disposal again. At last...we were ready for some camping in the Oglala.

The picture below gives a sense of just how beautiful and wide open this is. As I've mentioned before, the U.S. Forest Service (which oversees the National Grasslands) really knows how to lay out a campground. There were two new kybos here, a hand pump for water (which tasted remarkably good, by the way) and a neat interpretive kiosk describing the geology and fossils prints abounding here. Incidentally, we still had the campground to ourselves.

The next picture gives a closer view of our setup. Your eyes are probably first drawn to the marvelous backdrop; we sat for hours on end just staring at it. But did you notice the steel and fiberglass sun screen? Each of the five or six sites sported one of these, a must-have for protection from the brutal sun in the summer. One other thing: the grassy tenting areas had been mowed in the past couple of days, and I couldn't help but notice half of a large snake which apparently had been bisected by the mower. Keeping that in mind, and also remembering that this is rattler country, I suppose I was somewhat more careful than usual about where I sat or walked.

We had a fantastic night's sleep. No other campers ever showed up, so there we were under a jet black canopy uninterrupted by light of any sort (apart from the stars). And the only sound I recall hearing throughout the night was a distant train. I felt as though I were not only transported many miles away, but many years back in time as well. Camping in the wild west, pronghorn as neighbors, a locomotive chugging by — if Gabby Hayes had wandered in to heat up a pot of beans on a campfire that night, I wouldn't have been in the least surprised.

The next morning we set out to explore the toadstools and the fossil trail running among them. This geologic park gets its name from the weirdly shaped structures sprinkled about. Softer rock beneath a more brittle cap erodes away, leaving toadstools of stone behind. Of all the places we've been, this perhaps most reminded us of the moon.

You can find a printed guide to the trail, entitled Time Travel through Toadstool Geologic Park, in a dispensing box here. The fossils occurring are the remains of bizarre animals from the Eocene and Oligocene epochs. In some places, rather impressive tracks of creatures like the entelodont are still visible. So, as you can tell, there's much more to a grassland than "just" grass!

After a satisfying hike, we decided to do a little more exploring in other directions. We hitched up our packs, strapped on a couple quarts of water and headed out cross country. Of course, we both had our official Oglala National Grassland maps packed in, along with orienteering compasses. Our goal was to travel rough, through the Grassland, and eventually end up at the Hudson-Meng Buffalo Kill Site. Unfortunately, we quickly discovered that getting out of the Toadstool area is harder than it seems. (So much for this balderdash about Nebraska being flat). In fact, we never could find a decent route out which avoided private land. The rises were way too steep, and composed of loosely compacted clay and gravel, far too crumbly to risk climbing. By the way, the following morning we met a local, who told us of a way out of the "valley." Oh well, we can try it next time we're here.

We then took a road trip to an extremely remote part of the grassland. This was to see the Warbonnet Battlefield, about which I'll have more to say in another page. We also stopped along the way and hiked several miles in to the Agate Reservoir, to poke around for a few rocks. In several places out here you'll find amazing exposed beds of agates and quartz, and even just trudging along a dirt road can turn up some neat finds.

We returned to camp in the late afternoon. After all the travail of two nights ago, this had been a very rewarding 36 hours and it looked like peace had finally broken out. Marie started to prepare the camp bundles for supper, a delectable concoction of corned beef, onions, carrots, green peppers, parsnips and potatoes, all wrapped up in a tin foil bag, seasoned with butter and McCormick's Spicy Montreal Steak Seasoning, and cooked over charcoal. While she worked away, we both enjoyed a libation and took time to watch more pronghorn that had wandered through.

In the meanwhile, another party pulled in for some camping. They struggled with their tent for a half hour or so, and didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Eventually, one of them came over and asked if I knew how to erect the thing. In fact, the design was virtually identical to ours so I was able to help. The trick with this type is to keep the poles from flexing too much while the tent goes up; once it is up, there's very little lateral pressure on the poles.

Peering Eyes

While hiking in to the Agate Reservoir, we sat down in a peaceful valley to enjoy the sack lunches we had packed. Now, have you ever gotten the feeling that someone is looking at you? Well, about halfway through our meal, that's the way I felt. Then I spotted them...part way up the hillside was a pair of baby pronghorns, huddled in the grass and peering at us. Through binocs we could see they were shivering and seemed quite fearful. Then I noticed the mother further on top of the ridge, pacing nervously, wanting to stay near but obviously very afraid of humans. (Antelope are exceedingly shy and skittish). We grabbed our belongings and moved along quickly so as not to stress the beautiful creatures anymore.

This group consisted entirely of females. The eldest was a young white woman, college age I should say, and was obviously the "leader." The remaining three appeared to be American Indian girls, perhaps ages 8 to 13 or so. I'm no expert on ethnology, but their features suggested that they might have been members of the tribe which gives this grassland its name. Whatever the case, I'm guessing it was a local youth group outing of some sort.

Anyway, I got their tent up for them, and returned to our meal still in progress. The camp bundles were just about ready to come off the coals, when it hit...

An Unhappy Tent II: The Sequel

This is a very quiet place (most grasslands are), but there was now a sound in the air. A moaning some several miles away in the direction of the Black Hills increased more and more in volume as the color suddenly drained away from the sky. I suppose we had about fifteen seconds notice and then wham — an incredible straight line wind hit. The velocity was perhaps 40 miles an hour or even more, for the minivan was rocking like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. We quickly restaked the tent, and added on another four guylines. All other flyaways, like chairs, books and clothesline items were immediately stowed. I looked across at our neighbors' tent and saw it flattened instantly by the very first barrage.

Then a green Forest Service truck came shooting down the dirt road, and turned into the campground. A ranger got out and shouted above the howling din that even more wicked weather was on its way. He moved on to help the group of girls get packed up and out of there.

Beyond the Call of Duty

As I've mentioned, the Oglala National Grassland is a remote and sparsely populated part of the Great Plains. And that's why I was staggered that a USDA Forest Service worker drove out to warn us of the impending dangerous weather. He probably came from Chadron or Crawford (in either case a pretty long haul over some kind of tough roads) not even knowing if anyone was here.

Rather stupidly, I suppose, I still had hopes we could endure this. I pulled the minivan right in front of the tent to block the western blast. It made no difference; the guylines and stakes were tugging left and right, as the wind grabbed all upright surfaces with an ever strengthening grip. At one point it got so bad that I had to grasp a corner of the tent and hold it with all my might. My right bicep was bursting under the strain, and I'm a reasonably robust guy. The rain started now, not coming down but out, straight at us. And then my mind cleared and all became obvious — this was hopeless! I let go and the tent went smash flat in a trice, ripping all the lines out of the ground in one fell swoop.

If you've ever driven on a minimum maintenance Forest Road, then you'll appreciate my next thought. I knew we'd be stuck here for quite some time if we didn't vacate at once. My partner rescued as much sleeping gear as possible from the jellyfish tent, and I packed up the chuck box and grill. Next, we wadded the tent into the back of the minivan, with the guylines and clay encrusted stakes still dangling. Last, and most sadly, we ruefully hurled the just completed camp bundles into the trash and headed out — every minute counted now.

After a stressful flight, along dirt gumbo roads, with streaking rain completely obscuring the windshield, in the pitch dark of a largely uninhabited land, we eventually wound up in Chadron. As we completed registering for a room at a motel, the innkeeper switched on the "No Vacancy" sign.

So, was the trip a disaster? Not at all! After this experience, the writings of Willa Cather, James Michener and others make a lot more sense to me. Grasslands are supposed to have wind and unpredictable weather. If we had come this far and only saw a picture postcard version, I would have been even more disappointed. In short, a prairie is determined every bit as much by its weather as by its grasses. I'd like to think we saw a smattering of the real Oglala National Grassland those three days.

Nonetheless, the Oglala still owes me one, and I'm coming back!

Postscript

We did in fact make a short return voyage here, rather unexpectedly in the autumn of 2000. On a last hurrah before winter set in, we decided to swing through Wind Cave National Park and then cut south to camp at Fort Robinson for a couple days. We stopped at the Oglala along the way and hiked in a couple miles. The fall colors of the grasses were gorgeous. The only other folks we saw were two rockhounders from South Carolina.

The weather was lovely...the day after we left, it snowed fourteen inches in the nearby Black Hills...

• Federal
  • Agate Fossil Beds National Monument
  • Forest Service Map Orders
  • Pine Ridge Ranger District
  • Roosevelt National Forest
  • U.S. Forest Service
  
  
• State
  • Fort Robinson State Park
  
  
• Municipal
  • City of Chadron
  • Town of Crawford
  • Crawford Tourism Info
  
  
• Other Interesting Sites
  • High Plains Homestead
  • Hudson-Meng Bison Bonebed
  • Hudson-Meng Site Photo Gallery
  • A South Dakota Adventure (wild!)
  • Trailside Museum of Natural History
  • Warbonnet Battlefield
  • World Nature Trails: Toadstool Park