The Badlands

Oct 6-8, 2021

The first time I heard the word boondock I thought it sounded ridiculous. Not like something I wanted to do, anyway.

What the word means, in this age of RVs, is to camp without any electricity or water hookups on public land. It’s also called dry camping or dispersed camping. Sometimes there’s a small fee, often paid on the honor system.

I grew up tent-camping, so in a sense we boondocked all the time — I recall having the luxury of electricity or water at our campsite only rarely. But we always camped in official campsites, usually at state forests.

Our plan for the year ahead is to frequently boondock on federal land, meaning land belonging to the National Forest or BLM (Bureau of Land Management). This will not only save money, but also enable us to enjoy longer stretches of time in more remote areas. It’s why we opted to buy a self-contained, 4-season rig with a generator and solar panels.

Sage Creek & Bison

Tonight we will boondock for the first time, at Sage Creek, within the borders of Badlands NP. The dispersed camping area is accessible by some 10 miles of dirt roads. It’s basically an oval of dirt with tables around the perimeter, a few of which are covered with slatted wooden roofs. There are also two vault toilets, one at each end of the oval. 

What’s special about Sage Creek is that inside the camping area is a prairie dog town. Absolutely anywhere you camp you will be surrounded by the little critters.

We set up the camper and go for a hike around 7:00 in the evening, as the sun is getting low. 

The actual Sage Creek has cut a deep fissure through the grassland nearby, although it has very little water in it now. There are just a few standing pools with cloudy blue water. The creek banks are crumbling. In some places, enormous cottonwood trees have staked a spot. Their leaves are golden and flutter in the constant breeze. 

Some of the dry creek bottom is webbed with lines and when I step on them the earth gives way like sponge. I back up because these feel like primeval fossils that I should not disturb.

We walk a long distance following animal trails and crisscrossing the creek. We see two male buffalo in a small grove of trees, a long ways away. We view them with binoculars and give them space. We also see a pair of meadowlarks, which is exciting, and some blue and black birds with very long tails. We later discover these are shrikes, and are as common here as robins at home. 

With his binoculars Doug spies a lone wolf crossing the road. He hands me the binoculars just in time for me to watch it duck into a ditch. It’s a large and powerful animal and the sight is thrilling.

That evening we chat with some other campers, including a photographer named Jody, who specializes in one-room schoolhouses. Her IG handle is JodyPhippsPhotography. She tells us about an app she uses called iOverlander, which is helpful for finding boon docking sites.

THURSDAY   Oct 7

We have the usual oatmeal for breakfast, then pack up and head out around 10:30. Along the way to the Visitor Center we see many small groups of buffalo — maybe family units? — and then a big herd of more than 20. I climb a ladder to the top of the rig and take a 360 degree video of the herd of buffalo and the Badlands. 

We also see a few bighorn sheep, pronghorn antelope, and of course many more prairie dog towns.

The Badlands: Notch Trail

When we arrive at the Visitor Center, there are quite a few people in a small space, but everyone is masked. We view the exhibits and learn that the bighorn sheep we saw are not native to the region. The entire native species died out from disease and disruption of habitat. So Rocky Mountain bighorn were introduced and are doing quite well. There was a similar story about foxes, which were completely eradicated by poison set out for prairie dogs by ranchers. But re-introduced foxes are doing well and having pups.

We study a trail map and decide to hike the Notch Trail. It’s nearby and only a mile and a half long. It’s rated moderate. 

We begin the hike at 1:30, the heat of the day. The terrain is as arid as you might imagine with a name like “Badlands.” The ashy dirt underfoot is not only dry but very alkaline. What little water there might be, is poisonous.

The highlight of the hike is a rope ladder that extends a long way up a cliff. It’s anchored at each end and free-swaying in the middle. It rocks with each step. Someone with a fear of heights would have a difficult time. I tell myself “Ruth you can do this,” and place a foot, and then the next one.

Ambitious families attempt to go up the ladder with children. Parents carry babies and toddlers in their arms or on their backs. Golly. I’m covered with sweat just getting up the ladder.

It seems that most people turn around and go back down the ladder immediately. Some scramble down the cliff beside the ladder. In hindsight, I wished we had done the same.

(note the ladder in the distance with people climbing)

An Argument Proves This Is a Road Trip, Right?

Not long after we ascend the ladder, Doug and I lose the trail. The trail is supposedly marked with metal poles topped with white, but we can’t find the next one anywhere. The last pole is at the base of a long stretch of scree. Doug thinks he can see the trail up high; he thinks he can see that the trail leads to a notch. I want to be game, so I attempt to climb the scree, but about 8 feet up, I lose my nerve. It feels unsafe. I don’t want to break a bone this way. 

I silently get angry that Doug thinks we should do this. 

One of the patterns in our relationship is that Doug is the outdoorsy one. We met on a canoe trip — he was the guide. It’s not that he’s bossy, I just tend to defer to him. Later when we talked about the argument, he was not aware of this dynamic. We’ve been married 37 years. (There are always more layers, my friends!)

In reality, Doug says, Ruth let’s go back down.

I’m hot, and I’m angry. Maybe I’m not angry at Doug, so much as I’m angry that I can’t do this, that I’m not agile anymore, that I keep thinking about breaking a bone.

I agree, Let’s go back. And so we do.

As we are returning the way we came, we see a couple coming from the opposite direction along a wide trail. They come seemingly out of nowhere. They notice our surprised reaction and laugh. They say they’d been lost in the exact same way, then discovered this easy trail that leads right to the notch. So we do make it to the notch after all, to take in the view. Actually I’m too grouchy to really care about the view. All the Badlands views look like Badlands.

When we finish the temperature is 91 degrees.

The only wildlife we see on the trail is a bighorn sheep resting in the shadow of a cave quite near the parking lot. He’s there when we finish, too. 

It’s too hot to be on your feet, I tell the sheep. 

Back at the truck, Doug turns on the A/C and we talk about how easy it is to lose a trail. How easy to become overdone. It’s October and I drank a full 16 ounces of water on the trail — and still feel completely overheated. I can’t imagine hiking here in the summertime. It would be a furnace.

The Badlands — Cedar Pass Campground

After our hike we aren’t excited about returning to Sage Creek. Driving on gravel roads for ten miles or more feels like a bit much, right now. And we could both use a shower.

The Cedar Pass Campground is right next to the Visitor Center. It’s ringed by the craggy gray and pink formations that adorn the postcards we just bought. Since the fee is only $12 with a senior discount, we decide to stay. Plus there are showers available. As we demolish the second half of last night’s chicken pot pie, we spot another pair of meadowlarks, plus a bright blue bird which may be a Mountain Bluebird. A flock of sparrows flits all around the water tap and a rabbit hops by. We’re in bed by 7:30, but it’s full dark and feels much later.

FRIDAY   Oct 8

The overnight low was 53 degrees.

On Friday morning we wake to a beautiful sunrise over the silhouette of Badlands. It’s hard to believe that such a lovely orb will become so brutally hot in just a few hours.

After breakfast we have trouble raising two of the jacks. Since the solar panels power the jacks, and there’s plenty of sun, we don’t understand the problem. It’s not a blown fuse. That’s happened before and Doug knows how to fix it. So we take turns hand-cranking the final two jacks, which is quite a pectoral and arm workout.

Then Doug goes up on the roof and discovers that the solar panels are very dusty. Could that be the problem? He cleans them with wet washcloths.

We walk the Fossil Exhibit Trail (about 20 minutes) which we have all to ourselves. (I remember seeing this exact place in Nomadland, where Fern gets turned around for a moment.)

Then it’s back into the rig, so we can weave our way onto Route 90 toward Buffalo, Wyoming, tonight’s destination. We leave the park on Bigfoot Road, which is gravel for 7 or 8 miles and passes through national grasslands. There are herds of long-horn cattle, which look so much more ancient than beef cattle. What’s the deal with long-horns? I need to find out. We also spot a prairie falcon perched on a bare treetop.

After we drive a bit, Doug checks the battery which seems to be back to normal levels, probably recharged from the truck battery. He speculates that last night when he switched the refrigerator to propane he did something wrong and drained the battery. Which is why the jacks wouldn’t work this morning. 

We tank up in Rapid City, South Dakota at a Sam’s Club for $3.55 per gallon. Doug checks the tie-downs as he routinely does, and notices that the locks are missing. They must’ve jiggled loose on the gravel road. So we drive to a nearby Menards and he buys long padlocks to use instead of the bolts that came with them. 

There are so many details to learn to manage. I’m grateful when the glitches are fixable. Grateful when we can stay grateful amid the heat and dust and inconveniences.

Buffalo, WY — Conversation with a Stranger

We cross from South Dakota into Wyoming. There’s a big sky with scrubby grassland on either side and an occasional butte in the distance. When we arrive in Buffalo the weather is rainy and cold, a complete reversal of what we woke up to. We opt to stay at a private campground called Indian Campground, which is $40. 

I decide to wash a couple loads of laundry for the first time this trip. When I ask at the desk for quarters, a tween girl runs to the till to help. Rosie*, the woman who checked us in, reprimands her for opening the till. I realize they are mother and daughter. To soften the mood, I ask Rosie if she grew up here, and she says No, she moved here 6 weeks ago. 

“What do you think of it so far?” I ask.

She and her daughter both love it. The school is great. Really great. 

"What did you do before?” I ask.

She was a stock hand for the past ten years.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

She took care of horses and bulls and cattle. At various places. Including the rodeo circuit. She fed them, watered them, handled them, made sure they were healthy. At the rodeos she loaded them into their stalls.

“Was ten years of that hard on your body?”

She laughs. “When I was 16 my grandma warned me that I’d get old before my time and she was right!” Rosie has broken multiple bones and hurt multiple joints. Right now she needs shoulder surgery from an injury in her 20s. 

As we talk she gestures to her left foot which is in a walking cast. That happened last week, she says from handling a bull “who decided to use me as a scratching post.” Apparently she has a side gig handling stock nearby, in addition to this full time campground job.

“What was the rodeo circuit like?” I ask.

She says that she hired out to the same contractors repeatedly, that they were like family. She knew the other handlers and riders. "Nobody would ever go hungry, that’s for sure.” Like a family, she says again. And again. Like a family.

“If you did it for ten years, you must have loved it,” I say.

She brightens up. “Oh I love working with cattle. They’re all individuals. You get to know them. I took really good care of them. They’re like children, like my children. When they do well I’m just so proud of them. On the rodeo you see them go out and buck so good. I feel as proud as if those were my children. Performing. I helped them do that.”

I had never imagined that she would answer this way.

Then she tells me about a rodeo where an animal rights activist was taking lots of pictures. So she circled herself with enormous bulls and crooned to them as she scratched their throats. “Go ahead and take a picture of how these animals are being abused!” She laughs. Telling this story gets her energized.

She volunteers that she can’t go to rodeos now because it tears her up to sit in the stands. She wants to jump in and help. 

I ask if she takes her daughter to the rodeo and she says yes. “That’s actually helping me get used to being in the stands. I’m teaching her the same way I learned, on my daddy’s knee.” 

Then someone comes in and needs her assistance so our conversation ends. 

I never did get to ask her if she was sexually harassed on the rodeo circuit. What do you think she would have said?

*names changed