To See the Badlands

There’s a line in Antje Duvekot’s song Long Way that says, “The South Dakota Badlands touched me more than I can explain.”  I will try to explain what the Badlands are like, but I know I can’t do it justice.

As you enter the park, it looks like prairie.  Then, as you continue driving, you’ll go around a corner and over a small hill, and then BAM:

 You learn what the Badlands are.  It’s not just prairie.

I first went to the National Park in May of 2011.  When I got there, the winds were blowing so badly, my tent looked like this:

I camped in a “primitive” campground with outhouses and picnic tables.  No water, no people.  The bison kept me company, though...

 

And the prairie dogs.

I went to sleep to the sound of the bison outside my tent stomping the ground.  I could hear the grass squeak in their teeth as they ripped it from the ground, they were so close.  I was nervous, but I wasn’t scared.  I would have been more scared of strange people than strange animals, and there were no people.

I woke up to the chirping of prairie dogs and the gobbling of wild turkeys. 

Each night, I would climb the hill to see the sunset.  It was always worth it.

They have a log book in the campground, and if you want to venture off and hike into the great expanse, you can.  Just write your name, which direction you’re going, what day you’re leaving, and what day you expect to be back, and then you go.  There’s no place more liberating.  I spent my nights in the campground, but hiked to my heart’s content during the day.

My first night was rough.  The wind was so bad that I almost decided to drive on to Minnesota.  I’m glad I didn’t.  The next two days were the days that touched my soul.  I want to go back more than I could tell.  Next time I'll leave my car in the campsite and walk and camp until I feel like coming back.