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Primitive Camping

By Rebecca Johnson

Anna Fleming of Rapid City stokes a fire at Snake Creek Recreation Area near Platte. Photo by Bonny Fleming.

Mention the word”camping” and you’ll invoke many different notions in people. My own experience consists mainly of stints at Lewis & Clark Recreation area, between sites packed with RVs, patio furniture, stringed lights, bikes and satellite TV. The playgrounds are colorful, the paths are paved and the bathhouse showers nearly cleaner than my own. My husband and I camp in a roomy five-person tent and we bring an air mattress.

So where does one go for a more rugged adventure amongst the flora, fauna and twinkling skies? For primitive or dispersed camping with bare bones amenities? We found six South Dakotans with wanderlust for the wild. Here are their favorite spots to experience beauty and solitude in South Dakota. Consider the words of Walt Whitman, should you travel to them:”Now I see the secret of making the best person: it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.”

Tabor Lakeside Use Area

Lewis & Clark Lake

Abbey Kokesh recommends the little Tabor Lakeside Use Area campground near her home with its boat dock and small rocky beach. A gravel road 6 miles south of Tabor off Highway 52 winds the way there through deciduous trees and rolling hills. Its six sites are first-come, first-served with a self-pay station. They’re close together but on some perfect evenings, neighbors are few. The prime spot is atop a cliff overlooking Lewis & Clark Lake. Few places are better to watch the chalkstone bluffs of the Nebraska shore glow orange at sunset. If all six sites are full, don’t worry.”Some people kind of make their own campsite,” Kokesh says.

She likes the seclusion. There are no lights at night, but that doesn’t bother her — not even when she camped alone with her 2-year-old daughter, Sivelen, and heard a deep whine coming from the trees.”My husband and I listened to mountain lion sounds on YouTube and I swear it was a mountain lion,” Kokesh says.”I thought it was exciting. I know they don’t usually come around people, so I wasn’t scared.”

Photo by Sam Stukel.

Goat Island

Missouri River

Tony Kellar has led countless kayak and canoe excursions down the Missouri River as a former wilderness guide. His favorite place to overnight is Goat Island, a 3-mile long landmass south of the Myron Grove Boat Launch in Clay County.”It’s huge with lots of forest, brush and old growth trees,” Kellar says.”You have to paddle there so it’s been less used and there are more natural resources.”

Goat Island offers no designated campsites or facilities. It does offer the chance to see bald eagles, deer, turtles, raccoons, rabbits and turkeys if you’re lucky — or skunks if you’re not. Poison ivy and poison oak are also common, so be prepared to identify them and have some salve on hand just in case.

When island camping, you need to be selective with your gear. Kellar’s must-have items include a two-man tent, sleeping bag, single-burner propane stove, first-aid kit, weather radio and dry bags to safeguard your gear.”You protect a warm sleeping bag at all costs,” Kellar says. The more primitive you camp, the more vulnerable you are to weather.”I’ve been camping with a large group on Goat Island in a storm with trees coming down and tennis ball-sized hail,” Kellar says.

“Obviously the majority of the time it doesn’t happen, but you really need to be prepared. Weather changes really quickly.”

Luke Mickelson suggests campers bring a map or GPS to the Badlands.

Sage Creek Wilderness Area

Badlands National Park

Badlands National Park is a pleasant, scenic loop away from fast-paced Interstate 90. Sage Creek Campground is a primitive campground near the middle, with designated sites, picnic tables and pit toilets. But the Badlands also offers superb dispersed camping in Sage Creek Wilderness.

“It’s hard to even explain how gorgeous it is out there,” says Luke Mickelson, naturalist volunteer coordinator at The Outdoor Campus-West in Rapid City.”And I’ve never once run into another person while camping.” Mickelson accesses the area from Sage Creek Campground. There’s a register book for recording your name, number in party and expected date back.

No designated trail system leads the way through Sage Creek’s thousands of acres of grassland and rock so Mickelson recommends a map, compass or GPS.”Sage Creek has almost maze-like plateaus and little valleys you have to navigate through. Often times you won’t even see a bunch of buffalo until you’re right upon them,” he says.

Gumbo, thick mud that sticks to your boots like glue, is a hazard in rainy months like April or May.”It takes so much energy to go a few steps once that gumbo starts and builds up, so it can really wear a person out quickly.” And dehydration is a risk in hotter months since you have to pack in all your water.

Rattlesnakes are common, especially near prairie dog towns. If you spot a snake or hear its rattle, move slowly out of striking distance.”When they rattle, they’re just warning that they feel a little bit threatened by you,” Mickelson says.”It’s kind of them saying, ‘Hey, go the opposite way if you get the chance.'”

Chris Pelczarski says Grizzly Bear Creek is like “a fairy tale land.”

Grizzly Bear Creek

Black Elk Wilderness

Grizzlies are long gone from the Black Elk Wilderness north of Custer but Grizzly Bear Creek area offers beautiful views of spires and pine. Chris Pelczarski, an avid rock climber from Custer, lists it as one of his favorite places to spend the night.”You don’t have to climb to get to it,” Pelczarski says.”There’s a trail that goes right there called Grizzly Bear Creek Number 7.” Take the trailhead off SD 345 for a 6.3-mile hike. It follows the creek, so you don’t need to bring water if you have a good filtering device.”I bring a water filter, tent, sleeping bag and sometimes a little camp stove,” Pelczarski says.”I’m carrying all my climbing gear, so I have to go pretty light on everything.”

Free, dispersed camping is allowed anywhere near the trail, as long as you set up at least 100 feet away from the creek or any other water sources and don’t start a fire. Pelczarski likes to camp at the base of the rocks near the end of the trail.”It’s really like a fairy tale land back there. I encourage people to get out of their comfort zones and see these miraculous places before they’re too out of shape to do it,” Pelczarski says.”Whether you’re a hiker, climber, scrambler, camper or back packer, it’s a special, spiritual place that offers a lot of adventure.”

Photo by Bonny Fleming.

Hanna Campground

Black Hills National Forest

Darcie Reichert of Sioux Falls hesitates to share details of Hanna Campground for fear it becomes too popular. She’s visited the minimally maintained National Forest Service campground since she was a child. It’s nestled beside Hanna Creek 2 miles south of Cheyenne Crossing, southwest of Lead and has 13 primitive sites.

“During the week, not too many people go out there. The weekend is another story, but it’s kind of remote,” Reichert says.”There’s no noise and when it’s dark out, it’s super dark out. You can see all the stars.” A recent trip with her own young family involved cooking chokecherry syrup over the campfire and snacking on the blueberry-like wild juneberries. And she could practically set her watch by the local wildlife.”It never failed. Every day at four o’clock the same bird would come swoop the creek for fish and the dragonflies would swarm in,” Reichert says.

Hanna has no running water so bring some to drink. And no showers, but you can bathe in the ice-cold creek if compelled. There are two outhouses.

Photo by Harlan Humphrey.

Slim Buttes

Custer National Forest

Slim Buttes is a spectacular blend of badlands, ponderosa pine forest and mesas surrounded by West River grasslands in Harding County. It’s part of Custer National Forest and runs 40 miles north-to-south and 20 miles wide. Dispersed camping is allowed throughout if you set up 100 feet away from water, trails or road and pack out what you pack in. Harlan Humphrey, president of the Black Hills Photography Club, has taken fellow members there for several summers.

“It’s a beautiful place to camp out,” Humphrey says.”There was a rock formation right above us where we camped last time.” Slim Buttes’ white sandstone is a photographer’s dream, shining like polished granite in the sun. Most of the peaks and promontories have names. Ranchers dubbed one formation The Seals, and another the Three Sisters. Official names include The Castles, Doc Hodges Draw, Adam and Eve Butte and Battleship Rock. There are only three passes through the buttes. Two of them are paved. Highway 79 crosses Slim Buttes to the south and Highway 20 to the west of Reva. Reva Gap hosts a campground with limited amenities and hiking with views of The Castles.

Humphrey always sets up camp in an open area among the blue stem, Indian grass, buffalo grass, sage and sumac.”Of course, when you set up a tent, you need to make sure you set up on a high point and not on a low point,” Humphrey says. This will help keep you dry if it rains.”It was a bit hairy last time because we had an electrical storm come through with vicious lightning,” Humphrey says.”I think everybody was wide awake that night.”

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the May/June 2015 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Meeting the Need

By Rebecca Johnson

In December of 1996, Dallas and Mary Dietrich had their future planned. The Keystone couple owned four businesses in the Black Hills. Their daughter Dawn and son-in-law Joe Krutzky would soon move from Orlando to manage the couple’s two souvenir shops. Their son Deric, a junior at the University of South Dakota, planned to run their Rapid City and Spearfish ski equipment shops after graduation. But a horrific accident changed all of that.

On Jan. 4, 1997, the entire family was taking Dawn and Joe to the Omaha airport, but blizzard conditions on Interstate 90 made visibility difficult. Dallas drove 35 miles per hour as they neared Alexandria and Mary unbuckled her seatbelt to watch the shoulder. Suddenly, a semi rear-ended them at 75 miles per hour.

“He scooted us one-and-a-half football fields after he hit us,” Dallas says.”So all three of the kids were killed in the back seat and I was crushed between the steering wheel and seat.” Mary suffered non-life threatening broken and cracked ribs, but Dallas had no radial pulse.”They pretty much saved my life in Mitchell with the operation they did on my chest,” Dallas says. He was flown to Rapid City Regional Hospital the next day and rehabbed back and spinal cord injuries for six weeks. Dallas had some use of his legs for a while but now uses a wheelchair.

“With our plans kind of down the toilet, we were sitting around wondering what to do,” Dallas says. He had often dreamed of creating a children’s summer camp”up in the hills.” Mary saw the old Otho tin mine, 4 miles southeast of Keystone, for sale in a real estate magazine.”She said, ‘Why don’t you just buy yourself a town?’ She was joking but I didn’t know that,” Dallas says.”I couldn’t sleep; I just thought about it and thought about it. We came out here and thought, ‘What better way to memorialize the kids than to purchase this place and have people enjoy it for generations to come.'”

The couple bought the mine, established in 1892, dilapidated buildings and all.”Oh man, they were in bad shape,” Dallas recalls.”There were four of them: the bunkhouse, cookhouse, supervisors’ cabin and office. We put foundations under them and my father-in-law and my dad both said, ‘What are you doing? Just level them and start over again.’ But I just felt that this was history.”

As Dallas and Mary worked on their little town, their vision and mission changed. Dallas had long advocated for the disabled. Since 1979 he’s helped organize Black Hills Ski for Light, an event that allows people with disabilities to enjoy cross-country and downhill skiing. The couple recognized the need for accessible vacation options and felt obligated to make their resort available to anyone.”But to get the buildings on the National Historic Register and, at the same time, make them fully accessible was quite a trick,” Dallas says.”It took a lot more time and effort and a lot more money that I ever anticipated, but we got the job done.”

The first group stayed at the resort, now called Meeting the Need, in September 2003 and the Otho tin mine was added to the National Historic Register in 2004. Grants, donations, and volunteers made it possible, and they still operate with no paid employees.

The resort has 23 beds in the original buildings and two new walled tents, but they can accommodate more. There are places for tents and small RVs. Wooden boardwalks connect everything.”Recently we finished the tree house that’s 12 feet in the air. It’s got a 200-foot ramp so little kids in wheelchairs can wheel up and spend a night there, so that’s pretty cool.”

The Dietrichs charge $25 per person per night and guests have access to the fire pit and a few horses.”We have a number of tourist facilities, like Reptile Gardens, the 1880 Train and Crazy Horse, that provide free participation to our guests. And we own an old time photo place so that groups that have disabled family members can get an old time photo,” Dallas says.”It’s pretty affordable for most folks and, of course, if there’s somebody with disabilities that can’t afford it then we would waive all charges.” He’d specifically like to offer free stays to South Dakota’s disabled veterans as a way of giving back.

Meeting the need is open May through September and they still have openings for this summer. Able-bodied guests are welcome, but they give preference to those with disabilities. Call (605) 666-4610 or email dallasdietrich@hotmail.com to make reservations.

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Quiet, Beauty and Snow

By Kerry Temple

“How does it feel,” my companion asked as he sipped coffee at dawn, “to be perched on the edge between heaven and earth?”

The assessment seemed right, for several reasons. The most immediate was our sunrise breakfast on a high-pitched ledge of rock on the eastern slopes of the Black Hills. There was fire in the sky that morning as the flaming sun rolled over the dim horizon, as the lower sky broke into a radiant orange, as the last of the morning stars glimmered in the cobalt-blue expanse of the infinite overhead.

We had spent the night on the shelves of this cliff some 6,000 feet up, and there wasn’t much between us and the towering South Dakota sky. Harney Peak, which at 7,242 feet is the highest point east of the Rockies, was an over-the-shoulder glance behind us. We could survey bony outcroppings of granite thousands of feet below. The world had been laid at our feet.

But the sense of being poised between heaven and earth had as much to do with the character of this landscape — the Black Elk Wilderness Area — as it did with our aerie lookout to watch the turning of the celestial orbs. Some say the place is sacred. The Black Elk Wilderness Area is at the heart of the Black Hills which were held in holy trust by the Native Americans who lived for thousands of years on the plains surrounding them. Not only did the area provide an abundance of needed game, plant life and seasonal refuge, but it was also believed to be an especially sacred area.

It was a place for seeking visions — often at the summit of Harney Peak, known in various Plains Indian dialects as the “tall rock mountain at the center of the world.” Now comprising over 13,000 acres of undeveloped national forest land, the area was named in 1980 for the Lakota holy man whose life story is chronicled in John Neihardt’s classic Black Elk Speaks.

The feeling that these woods, these rocks, these meadows are special persists today. Even those who are less romantic, less sentimental about the natural landscape will admit sensing something different here. Others will tell you the preserve (like Bear Butte to the north or the Stone Medicine Wheel in Wyoming’s nearby Big Horns) is among the world’s sacred spots. Those who are inclined toward the mystical may report extraordinary soundings in these woods, and earnest New Agers appreciate the sense of place and point to the glittering mica and quartz crystal found here.

Of course, my companion and I did not hold such lofty views a few mornings prior to that luminous dawn watch. We had awakened to snow. Maybe three inches. Startling our stockinged feet. Draped generously on our tent. Blanketing our metal cook gear.

This was not our first trip to the Black Elk area in late fall or early winter, and each time we had just missed heavy snowfalls. Feeling either lucky or blessed we kept coming back, largely because we like the Hills this time of year. The temperatures are brisk but pleasant and the place is mostly empty.

One of the main advantages of this wilderness area is its accessibility: the highest reaches are but a day’s hike from the car. An elaborate trail system networks the wilderness area with the surrounding forest lands as well as Mount Rushmore, Custer State Park and Wind Cave National Park. It also splices into the Centennial Trail which runs the length of the Black Hills from north to south.

But the accessibility is also one of the area’s biggest drawbacks: backcountry backpacking and solitude can be quickly undercut by trooping vacationers, picnickers and day hikers. Even Harney Peak’s summit, capped with a stone lookout tower built in 1938 but no longer used, is an afternoon’s jaunt from a parking lot. So we come in autumn and take our chances with shifting winds, and waking occasionally to ice in our water bottles.

And there we were now, waking to a snow-laden landscape after star-gazing the night before. So we cooked breakfast in the cold, wet snow and ate in the snow and took our tent down in the snow and hiked all morning in the snow — in a grey and white wonderland of pine, birch and oak, and big, heavy flakes, under a low-hanging sky of slate-grey.

But by early afternoon the beauty and novelty weren’t enough to offset the soggy boots and numbing toes, and a closing-in sense of foreboding. After a chilly lunch, we stood in a bitter wind and looked at the cold, grey day and kicked at the three-inch snow as if it would tell us how long the storm would last.

There are no weather reports in the woods and not much sky when you’re hiking the shoulders and ravines of precipitous forestland. We didn’t know what to do — head for cover or carry on?

But before we had to choose between foolhardy courage and cowardly caution, a patch of white clouds appeared. Then a window of blue sky. Then a puddle of sunlight. And by midafternoon the storm had passed through and the sky was clear and the sunset was brilliant.

We set up camp that evening in a gold grass meadow, laid out our sleeping bags to dry, and scrambled up some rocks for a cocktail hour of Gatorade and trail mix. The vista was stunning — red sun sinking in the west, full white moon rising over rocky peaks in the east. Luminescent.

I like being in a place where I am not confined to campgrounds, but am left to my own allegiance to low-impact camping. I like to get off the trail and explore a bit, whether it’s struggling to the top of Little Devil’s Tower, finding a perch to admire Cathedral Spires, or climbing around on the huge slabs of granite scattered about the area.

One of my favorite features of the Black Elk Wilderness are the rock formations — giant boulders and splintery crags, projectile needles and weathered knobs. They will make you stop and stare. And think. These fingers and fists emerged from a seabed as a great dome of molten rock plunged through and transformed the layers of limestone and sandstone sediments laid down 600 to 700 million years ago. Erosion and weathering have left the granite pegmatite exposed and gnarly and wondrous. But then I favor rocks.

There is also a fair amount of wildlife here — ground mammals, deer, wild turkey, beaver, an occasional elk or bobcat or mountain goat, bald and golden eagles. But the main attraction, it seems to me, is something which comes through the soles of the feet when you have hiked here awhile, or through the pores when you least expect it. It is an awareness that there is more here than might be detected through our meager senses — something luminous, something of the heart of the place, something which puts you in touch with both the earth and sky.

Editor’s Note: Kerry Temple lives in South Bend, Indiana, where he is editor of Notre Dame Magazine. This story originally appeared in the November/December 1992 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.



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Lyme Disease Awareness

By Rebecca Johnson

May is Lyme disease awareness month. Most of us know the common way of contracting the bacterial infection — through a deer tick bite. My husband and I had a close encounter with a tick a couple of weeks ago while hunting morel mushrooms. We knew enough about Lyme disease to get worried, but it turns out contraction in South Dakota is very rare.

The deer tick (Ixodes scapularis) has been detected occasionally in far-eastern South Dakota. But in the 2011 survey conducted by South Dakota State University and funded by the Department of Health no deer ticks were found.”My interpretation is that we probably have low levels of Ixodes ticks in isolated areas of eastern South Dakota,” says Lon Kightlinger, State Epidemiologist.”Our main Lyme disease risk is for South Dakota residents who travel to Lyme-endemic states, like Minnesota where over 1,000 human cases are reported annually.” Last year there were four human Lyme disease cases reported and all were with out-of-state tick exposure.”The deer tick habitat is dense forest area, not prairie,” says Kightlinger.”Our environment is protective.”

Though contraction in South Dakota is very rare, I felt better familiarizing myself with the symptoms. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), early indicators may seem flu-like, including fever, headache, muscle aches, and swollen lymph nodes. A very obvious symptom that occurs in about 70-80% of infected cases is erythema migrans or a”bulls-eye” rash at the site of the tick bite. The circular rash gradually expands and can grow as large as 12 inches in diameter. Parts of the rash may fade as it grows, creating its bulls-eye appearance. Later symptoms include loss of muscle tone in the face, severe headaches and neck stiffness due to inflammation of the spinal cord, pain and swelling in large joints, heart palpitations and dizziness. Most cases can be treated successfully with a few weeks of antibiotics. Left untreated, Lyme disease may cause severe arthritis and chronic neurological problems.

And in case you were wondering, wood ticks and dogs tick do not carry Lyme disease.”You can only get Lyme disease from the Ixodes deer ticks,” says Kightlinger. “Dog ticks, however, may transmit tularemia or Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.” Visit the CDC web site for information on preventing tick bites and tick removal.

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Backpacking Sage Creek

By Carl Johnson

Photographer Carl Johnson traversed the Badlands for three days without a human encounter.


Badlands National Park is a pleasant, scenic loop away from fast-paced Interstate 90 in South Dakota. Most visitors enjoy short hikes among the formations or fossils on designated trails in the Cedar Pass area. But, unknown to many, the Badlands also offers a superb backpacking opportunity in Sage Creek Wilderness. During Carl Johnson’s month-long visit photographing the park as an artist-in-residence he took a three-day trip to explore the area. Here are excerpts from his field journal.

May 1

There is no designated trail system in the Sage Creek Wilderness; you merely need a compass, a map, and a desire to explore. At 11 a.m., I started at the Deer Haven check-in point, just behind the picnic area on the Conata Road. Deer Haven is a ledge of grass and thick juniper above the main floor of the Conata Basin. I decided to go through rather than around Deer Haven, so I checked the contour lines on my map and surveyed the land for the best way up. Each time I found myself traversing areas with abundant mule deer tracks. I followed them because I figured they knew the terrain better. Their trail led me to a clay scree field, where I crawled up about 10 feet on all fours.

Once over the top, I headed west. There were a lot of drainages coming down through the Sage Creek area, all flowing where I wanted to go, essentially forming the beginning of Sage Creek. Again, I noticed game trails, now a mixture of mule deer, bison and bighorn. To find the best way through the drainages, I followed the trails. Without fail, every time I needed to cross a drainage, creek or gorge, the game trail provided the easiest path. Where I had to cross an active stream, the game trail always led through the shallowest point.

I stopped for lunch atop a small hill adorned with interesting formations, some of which looked like pyramids made of volcanic ash. I had my first bison encounter as I photographed what looked like a crumbling wall from an old city, a geological formation called a clastic dike. The bison stared at me, and I talked to him, letting him know that I was just passing through and wouldn’t bother him. After leaving him I saw something new — several scattered rock beds of quartz and sedimentary rocks. I encountered another bison as I entered greener areas, closer to where I wanted to pitch my tent for the evening. I finally selected a spot, about six miles from where I started, on the edge of some rock beds. The sky was getting cloudy and the wind had picked up. I made dinner, eager to have a hot meal and hoping the weather would change. It was still cloudy when I finished dinner, so I waited inside the tent, taking notes on the day’s trip. The sky opened just before sunset. I worked furiously with my camera, and then retired to read my book.

May 2

Johnson’s journal describes a day’s changing light as the sun rises and moves across the Badlands sky: “It washed across the landscape like a painter’s brush, selecting pastels to adorn the scene.”

When I arose at 5 a.m., the skies had cleared and there was a spirited exchange of howls and yips from coyotes to the west. I grabbed my camera gear and headed to a small hill I identified the previous day as a good spot to catch the morning light. In the distance, I spied three bull bison sitting on the same grass ledge where I saw them yesterday. There was another large bull about a half mile to the west — grazing in the middle of my planned path. Just before the sun crested, I saw a pink glow on the ridges and formations to the south. As the light climbed, it washed across the landscape like a painter’s brush, selecting pastels to adorn the scene. I kept working with the light until its magical golden hue disappeared, then I went back to camp, made breakfast and was on the trail by 7:50.

Fortunately, the large bull was no longer on my path, and I found myself meandering along a landscape shaped by drainages and a creek that frequently changes course. Eventually I left grassy mesas and a stark, white clay terrain, littered with rock piles and slides, washed and wiped over the centuries by flash flooding. Bizarre pedestal formations popped up intermittently, a reminder of the strangeness of this place.

I finally got around the end of an east-west formation I had paralleled all day and worked my way southwest. I found myself in the middle of what appeared to be the bison freeway. Sets of heavily traveled trails, exhibiting tracks from hundreds of animals, littered this gumbo clay area. By 1 p.m., I found a flat, grassy table — almost a small mesa — about 30 feet wide, 60 feet long, and 50 feet high. Even though it was early, I had found a good spot and did not feel like hiking in the heat. I set up camp, took off my boots and crawled inside my tent.

I loved the rocks on that table. There were several large and unusual boulders covered with a variety of lichens, predominantly a vivid orange. As the evening concluded, I played the same song and dance with the skies. From hot, sunny and clear, it had turned cool and windy with thick, scattered clouds. I worked with those clouds and found some breaks of sunlight to photograph the landscape. I retired my camera for the evening and went inside to read. Sleep came as I lay there, completely alone in this broad landscape, listening to the soft sounds of the winds, accented by the occasional yip or howl of a coyote.

May 3

Realizing that light would not hit as early here as yesterday, I slept in until 5:15 a.m., and made breakfast while waiting for sunrise. Again, it was a clear morning with nary a sign of clouds, and I enjoyed the rare opportunity for solitude in a majestic setting.

By 7:05, I was on the trail toward Sage Creek Campground. Within a mile of my final destination, I stopped for a drink. Soon I realized that I was looking upon a large prairie dog town. What clued me in was the cacophony of back and forth chattering among the mounds. After my snack, I passed through the town and noticed that one prairie dog must have picked a bad time to come out of his hole — bones were scattered around one of the openings. I took some photos, and then hiked to a small grassy hill, where I spooked several grouse. The encounter highlights how well camouflaged these birds are; I could not see them at all until they flushed and headed southwest.

I was on my final approach. There was a hill I had been hiking toward for the last few miles that I thought was the last rise before the campground. I was about to discover the accuracy of my navigational skills. Around noon I reached the top of the hill, looked down to the left and saw the campground right where it should be. Then I saw two large bull bison in the middle of my path. I gave them a wide berth, watching them as they watched me, and then crossed the creek using a game trail that crossed a shallow, gravel bar area. I noticed people camping, so I chatted with them while waiting for my ride. In three days, I had not encountered anyone. Then at the end of my journey I found a man and his son enjoying the quiet and solitude that other visitors miss. I recommend taking time to do what 90 percent of park visitors do not — get off the road. You will discover a Badlands you have never visited.

EDITOR’S NOTE ñ This story is revised from the May/June 2010 issue of South Dakota Magazine. Carl Johnson was the Badlands National Park artist-in-residence in May of 2009. He lives in Anchorage, Alaska with his wife, Michelle. Visit Carl’s website to see more of his photography. To order this back issue or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.