“While the train flashed through never-ending miles of ripe wheat, by country towns and bright-flowered pastures and oak groves wilting in the sun, we sat in the observation car, where the woodwork was hot to the touch and red dust lay deep over everything. The dust and heat, the burning wind, reminded us of many things. We were talking about what it is like to spend one’s childhood in little towns like these, buried in wheat and corn, under stimulating extremes of climate: burning summers when the world lies green and billowy beneath a brilliant sky, when one is fairly stifled in vegetation, in the color and smell of strong weeds and heavy harvests; blustery winters with little snow, when the whole country is stripped bare and gray as sheet-iron. We agreed that no one who had not grown up in a little prairie town could know anything about it.”
 |
| LOCHSA RIVER, MT |
August 2: Today is one for driving, observation and rumination. We basically spent all day in the car, eschewing the interstate for lesser two-lane roadways as we crossed over the Bitterroot Mountains in Idaho to Missoula, Montana and then eastward to Great Falls. The first 100 miles was the longest, steadiest, curviest climb ever, as we gained about 2500 feet winding through exquisite forest, rolling plains and deep canyons, following the Clearwater and Lochsa Rivers to their origins at the Continental Divide. Now bear in mind that throughout this journey, the speed limit was an astonishing 70 MPH! This equates in my opinion to the states saying, “Go ahead, kill yourself.” And they did. The roadside was littered with white cross markers, showing where every highway fatality had occurred. When we crossed into Montana at Lolo Pass of Lewis and Clark fame in the Bitterroots, there was a sign explaining that the American Legion had taken it upon itself to put up these little white crosses for each death. In fact, they had a pretty fancy system - one death, one cross on a post; two deaths got a metal post with cross bar holding two crosses at the same height; three deaths got the same treatment except now there was a third cross in the middle held higher than the other two. We didn’t see any foursomes. Perhaps they played through. These deaths are a terrible thing and it is probably a good idea to remind the traveling public, who are racing along these roads now at AUTHORIZED AND ENCOURAGED death wish speeds, that others before them have bought the farm. However, what comes to mind for me is picturing the American Legion guy (I can’t imagine a woman doing this), sitting at home with a garage full of little white cross holders that he has carefully prepared in various combinations, scanning all the traffic reports and obits throughout the state, looking for dead people on his roads. Is he sad when he learns of deaths and has to go out to put up the markers or is he disappointed when he doesn’t find anything and has nothing to do? Grisly, either way.
Casino gambling is legal in Montana. What is weird, besides seeing “Lucky Lil’s Gambling Halls” scattered around the state, are all the gas stations that are also “casinos” and usually liquor stores as well. It’s kind of a “git ‘er all done” in one place philosophy. Come Friday, go down to the local gaseteria, fill your tank, get wasted and gamble away your paycheck. Saves time AND fuel. Then you can drive home through the mountains at 70 MPH and finish the job, getting a little white cross for your efforts. Drive at night on the back roads of Montana? I don’t think so.
 |
| GAS STATION/CONVENIENCE STORE/LIQUOR STORE/CASINO |
We tried to finish the day by staying at First Peoples Buffalo Jump State Park, but it was closed for the day, meaning it probably didn’t have camping anyway. I would have liked to see where Native Americans hunted bison by driving them over a cliff to their deaths. Maybe that’s where the tradition began for that 70 MPH speed limit in the mountains. Disappointed, we continued on to the inevitable Walmart in Great Falls, right next to a scenic oil refinery, all lit up at night, plus an adjacent casino at your local Conoco station. By now it was 8:30 PM, the temperature was still 90 degrees and we bought for dinner a rotisserie chicken that probably had been driven over a cliff by Indians. Night all.
August 3: Like Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs said in Woolly Bully, “Drive, baby, drive!” Or was that Sarah Palin? Either way, that’s what we did today, crossing the the Great Northern Plains from Great Falls, Montana to northeastern North Dakota. Rather than take the interstate, which would have been much faster, we traveled along Route 200 the entire way. This was just south of the Missouri Breaks National Monument badlands and the sprawling Charles Russel National Wildlife Refuge, roughly paralleling the course of the mighty Missouri River, about 50 miles north of our path. Most of the trip was through rolling hills planted with grain of one sort or another or giant cattle ranches covered in grass that rippled hypnotically in the strong prairie winds. We made one significant stop, wanting to actually get out of Albie and do a bit of exploring. A green dot on the map drew us to War Horse NWR, a speck of saved land about seven miles north along a dirt road. The website described it as “a natural depression that sometimes has water in it and can be very important for waterfowl migration if it does.” We took a chance and found War Horse Lake, which actually was full of water and covered with ducks, 100s of eared and western grebes, white pelicans and some shorebirds along its perimeter. A few flocks of lark buntings, the males still dressed in black and white for the prom, filtered by. Were these the same birds we had seen going north almost four months ago, now heading in a southerly direction to their wintering grounds? There was a dike surrounding the west side of the lake, so we spent about an hour walking along the water’s edge seeing what we could find. The wind was so strong that even holding our binoculars steady was an uncertain task. The best part about getting off the main road and rambling along a small dirt one was having a chance to really get a feel for what the surrounding land was like. Mostly dry grassland, sliced by draws from rain water runoff, the land land rose and fell with small hills. A pair of pronghorn watched us from a distance and bounced off, going up a rise. A small forest of Ponderosa pine grew near the lake, thriving in what a sign called “Acid Shale Formation” that is an extremely rare geo-ecological configuration. The only other vehicle we saw was a ranch truck carrying a massive amount of hay bales, probably to store for the winter. Living out here, a long way from any towns at all, is a very different way of life. But that’s where our steaks and burgers come from.
Route 200 laid a track all the way to Sidney, Montana, for refueling and a last chance at a gas station/convenience store/liquor store/casino. The casino was small and surprisingly elegant, filled with a variety of slot machines, brightly lit with neon lighting, with a bar filled with cowpokes watching the Yankees game.
In one more hour, we reached our destination in North Dakota - the North Unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It was now 10:30 PM, dark and we were greeted at the entrance by the resident camp host, which was a huge 2000 pound bull Plains Bison, casually munching along the road. Bison are dark, keep their heads down and don’t much care about vehicles. It’s a good thing Gale saw it in time. The campground had a great site open for us so we pulled in, did our own munching on leftovers and called it a night.
 |
| NORTH UNIT, THEODORE ROOSEVELT NP, ND |
August 4: We got a good late start for the day, driving the park’s 14 mile one-way road on an overcast, chilly morning. Time to reverse gears - back to the campsite, take a nap, shower and have a late lunch. The late afternoon sun was lighting up the prairie like a magic lantern, so we started our visit again. Checked out the Visitor Center and picked out the Coulee/Caprock Nature Trail for a moderate hike we would enjoy. The trail narrowly wound its way through a coulee, a large slender wash or draw or arroyo caused over time by rain or snow-melt runoff. The land here is composed almost entirely of soft sediments deposited in narrow, at times colorful bands, that are exceptionally horizontal. No uplift here to twist and torture those sedimentary lines, as seen in the Rockies. Fifty million years ago, this area was at the bottom of a gigantic inland sea, with all the tropical accoutrements and creatures one would expect. The sea dried up, the land eroded and the end result is a huge high plain of grassland, sliced and diced by erosive forces of wind and water that reveal in the coulees and badlands a treasure of geological and paleontogical history, a multitude of dinosaur and other fossils, plus a relatively recently discovered rich shale oil field (The Bakken Field) that is the second largest in the USA. Makes for a lot of ranchers and farmers that struck it rich big time. Back to our trail. Accompanied by a nature guide pamphlet, we learned and saw a lot about the natural history of the area. Ancient petrified trees protruded from the coulee walls, sending a stream of silica laden former bark down the hillside below them. In places the highly striated slopes, underlain by slippery Bentonite clay, which absorbs three times its volume in water when it rains, “slumped” and slid down the hill to the bottom, leaving the viewer to match up the sedimentary stripes to see where the the formation used to be. Pretty amazing stuff. Not much in the way of birds, except for a juvenile spotted towhee, which I had never seen before and some least chipmunks zipping around on the rocks. There were some muddy spots along the path, where springs seeped out of the hillsides before disappearing back into the earth. Immense bison tracks were common and the last thing we wanted to run into was a bison on a narrow trail. The best thing about our walk? No one else was there! In fact, the lightly visited North Unit of the TRNP is a delightful place to go for peace and quiet, some nice hiking and few other people, apparently even in mid-summer.
 |
| BISON |
 |
| MULE DEER |
The sun was getting lower and the light was getting better for photography, so we continued on up the hill toward the two overlooks that provide superb viewing into the deeply eroded coulees that lead to the Little Missouri River. En route, we encountered a problem. About 100 bison were blocking the road. When we stopped, we became surrounded by them as bulls, cows and calves slowly milled about us. It was like being awash in a buffalo river. We sat there for at least 20 minutes, just watching the show. The frisky calves frolicked in the grass, chasing each other around, kicking up their heels. Little ones tried to nurse from annoyed cows that had apparently thought that weaning time had already come and gone. Bulls rolled around in the sandy dirt and grunted at each other in mock displays of anger. It was very easy to imagine the time, 200 years ago, when millions upon millions of these creatures roamed the plains, traveling in vast herds and behaving in the same ways we now had the privilege to observe.
At the highest overlook, we had a simple dinner of rice, black beans and salsa and then headed back toward the campground as the sun disappeared behind the gently rolling grasslands. Wildlife seems to appear from nowhere at this time of day and tonight was no exception. As darkness approached, we saw three buck mule deer, each with an immense rack. And then the biggest surprise, two bighorn sheep rams, with full hornage, lifted their heads from atop a nearby ridge to see what we were up to. A few bison in the road later, we were safely home for the night.
August 5: Nicely cool last night. We had breakfast and then a walk to the river through the cottonwood grove in which the campground is located. Instantly, we heard and found a group of three red-headed woodpeckers foraging in the trees, circulating around their favorite drumming spots, usually dead tree limbs that would provide some great reverberation. The river was muddy and low and the sandy banks were littered with the tracks of all the animals that had recently passed by.
 |
| RED-HEADED WOODPECKERS |
We packed up and drove about 80 miles south to the South Unit of the TRNP, which overlaps Interstate 94 and is much more heavily visited than the North Unit. We did find one of the last available campsites and settled in for the hot afternoon. For the first time, we unfurled our awning, not quite sure how to do it or once out, how to get it securely back in its nifty rooftop container. In the meantime, the shade it provides is most welcome and I’m enjoying it as I write. The only disturbance is a common nighthawk, which is perched right above us in a cottonwood and every few minutes, starts screeching out its nasal peent call, which is MUCH louder up close and personal than from high in the sky like we usually hear them. A lone bison calf wandered right past me (“Where’s my mommy?”) as did a single chestnut wild horse, glistening in the sunlight.
 |
| BLACK-TAILED PRAIRIE-DOGS |
We spent the remainder of the afternoon cruising the 35 mile long road within the South Section. It was much like the North, except gentler, since this area had not been glaciated, leaving many rounded sedimentary domes and shallower valleys. Most interesting and amusing were the multiple black-tailed prairie dog towns that at times were on both sides of the road (we found one burrowing owl glowering from the top of its mound) and the small herds of wild horses, descended from ranch stock that roam the park. A brief visit to the Painted Canyon Overlook off I-94 completed the day.
August 6: Having realized last night that one of the best golf courses in North Dakota was only five miles away, we had no choice but to go play Bully Pulpit. Mostly rolling along the Little Missouri River valley, for three holes on the back nine it abruptly rises into the badlands hills. The three holes I categorize as hard, extremely hard and ridiculous. All were much fun, but I left a quite a few golf balls out there in the tall grass. It was a slow round, so we had a delicious brat with sauerkraut for lunch. The area around here is very German, from immigration that occurred in the early 1800s and then again after WWII. According to our young playing partners, Logan and Lindsey Unterheyer, the Germans in the second wave came through Russia and always referred to themselves as “the Germans from Russia”, so no one would think they were Nazis.
We left by about 3:00 PM, heading east on I-94 for 130 miles, then turning south toward Long Lake National Wildlife Refuge. North Dakota has more National Wildlife Refuges than any other state! Many of them are just dots on the map, providing protection for a pothole lake or small copse of trees, but these little protected areas are all over the place. Known as “The Duck Factory of North America”, these little pothole lakes and marshes are the result of glacial activity 10,000 years ago, and teem with breeding waterfowl during spring and early summer. Despite it being not quite prime time for migration, we found a flock of shorebirds containing stilt, least, Baird’s and pectoral sandpipers, plus a group of marbled godwits.
 |
| ABANDONED HOME, NORTH DAKOTA PRAIRIE |
Driving along all these backroads and even the highways throughout the Dakotas, Nebraska and Iowa, we’ve come across numerous abandoned houses, farm buildings and equipment, decaying as roofs collapsed, trees and weeds grew through what used to be barns, living rooms, kitchens and scenes of family happiness. Passing by these log or clapboard antiques, paint long gone, shingles shed, I can’t help but think of the hopes and dreams, happiness and sadness, incredibly hard work trying to make a living on these wide open prairies, all of which is now irretrievably lost, history sinking into the weeds. What went on here? Where did the people go? What happened to them? From the most simple one-room log cabin, with an outhouse just behind, to an elegant two-story Italianate house, probably the finest in the county, all now decaying, lives that disappeared, stories probably lost. Did the owners simply leave, selling out their land to the huge farming corporations that now dominate agricultural America, their land worth far more than their former homes? Did they get wiped out in the Great Depression or the Dust Bowl years? Did their children have no interest in the prairie farming life? I’m sure there is a different story for each abandoned homestead, and seeing each one raises many more questions than will ever be answered.
Slowly working our way along the gravel roads, we came upon a hill with an observation shelter overlooking the lake AND an outhouse! What could be more perfect? So here we are, 100 feet over the lake, watching the sun set while sitting outside on our lawn chairs, sipping mint juleps. Most of that is true.
 |
| VIEW FROM HILLTOP CAMPSITE |
 |
| SUNFLOWERS, ND |
 |
| BLACK TERN |
August 7: Driving, driving, driving. After briefly checking out the rest of Long Lake Refuge, we sat in the car the whole day. If there was any engaging scenery, this would not be too bad. But here in the eastern Dakotas, flat and treeless are the operative words. Pretty much nothing but one plane farming or ranching country. We drove mostly secondary roads, so we could actually see what the small towns looked like. Most had populations of under 500 and whose fortunes were linked to a large array of grain elevators. The highlight was driving a 10 mile dirt road that had several marshes and ditches alongside, filled with 100s of yellow-headed blackbirds, duck and coot families and some shorebirds, including a white-rumped sandpiper, which was new for the trip. A group of white-faced ibis gently soared in to land at one pool. Bright yellow fields got our attention in the distance and we learned that North Dakota is the number one producer of sunflower seeds in the country, so for all you bird feeders out there, that's where your seed may be coming from! Dozens of black terns hawked insects over a roadside pond.
Our final destination was the Ohiya Casino and Resort, operated by the Santee Sioux Nation near Niobrara, Nebraska (our 18th state for the trip). The goal is to play golf here at the new Tatanka Golf Course and then continue east. We checked out the casino upon arrival (they let us park overnight in the parking lot) and can’t quite figure out how a casino can succeed so far out in the middle of nowhere without any even medium-sized city nearby. It was built with the assistance of a $20,000,000 loan from another Sioux tribe in Minnesota, which apparently already has had their revenge on white folks with their own successful gambling business. So staying here is like a much fancier version of the Walmart parking lot, except with no shopping.
August 8: We played Tatanka (translation in Sioux is “buffalo”) in the morning. The course was enjoying its Grand Opening today, even though it informally opened for play last year. Laid out on the rolling hills of the Santee Sioux tribe, the designer chose not to alter the land any more than necessary, letting the course conform to the natural rolls and tumbles of the terrain. Tall native grasses cover everything that isn’t fairway, green or tee box and easily swallow every off line ball. A small herd of bison was grazing just outside the course fence. This is definitely a “player’s” course and is not for the unskilled or faint-hearted. On the other hand, if you’ve got your “A” game, it’s nothing but fun, making you think your way through every hole and shot like you were making billiard shots.
Then came the worst drive of the trip so far. Straight across eastern Nebraska and halfway through Iowa. Nothing but corn and soybean fields, with an occasional cow or sheep. Fortunately, there was good internet service most of the way, so Pandora saved the day. But what about tomorrow? The rest of the way through Iowa and into Illinois doesn’t hold much promise for inspiration. Time to whip out one of our books on CD, perhaps?
Night in Williams, IA at a Best Western, operated by East Indians. There is a slight bouquet of curry in the hallway.
August 9: Agonizingly boring drive to Dixon, Illinois.
