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Christmas Traditions

It was Christmas morning of 1995. The folks still lived at the farm place on the line between Dewey and Ziebach counties where I grew up. I was home on college break. Dad had a good stand of winter wheat sprout before the weather turned cold down in our fields along the Moreau River adjacent to Highway 65. My older brother and I learned that pronghorns were seen taking advantage of the wheat sprouts that were still above the snow. So, on that cold Christmas morning, we got up in the dark and drove to the river breaks to take a look. I was just starting my love affair with photography and my brother was engaging his”mighty hunter” passions. We made our way slowly to the hilltops overlooking the river just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. A low fog hung over the valley. It was one of the prettiest winter sights I had ever seen. Lo and behold, just on the edge of the fog we could see pronghorn. A lot of pronghorn. I snapped a few photos and then we started down to see if we could get closer.

We had stumbled upon 100 or so pronghorn that morning. Once we adequately spooked them, they ran to the southwest in a single line. I’ve never seen anything like it. They got bunched up at a fence corner and I snapped a few more photos.

I was reminded of this experience the morning after Christmas this year as I watched my nephew slowly move into position to get a better binocular view of a snowy owl perched on large rocks on the southern edge of Sioux Falls. I wonder if he’ll remember that experience as clearly as I remember that Christmas morning nearly 30 years ago.

Our family has traditionally done some sightseeing and hiking around Christmas time. Many trips and walks through the Moreau River country with my brothers, cousins and uncles took place after Christmas dinner. I miss those times greatly. It could be why I still try to do a winter road trip every year around the holidays. My usual haunts are Badlands National Park followed by Custer State Park and Wind Cave National Park. This year I didn’t get out there until New Year’s weekend, but it didn’t matter. The magic of a winter safari in our West River parks was still strong.

I spent most of my time in the Badlands. A heavy snow turned to flurries in sunshine as the weather system moved east. The large snowflakes blowing in the wind made for interesting visuals, particularly when the sun tried to break through. It didn’t snow in the southern hills, but it was very cold. Did you know that buffalo like to lick the salt and minerals off your car in winter? Knowing this can bring great photo opportunities if you are willing. Parking on the Highland Ridge Road at Wind Cave National Park near a bison herd will usually get them moving in your direction. This offers unique opportunities to get interesting portraits. I like to catch them in the first or last light of the day, and when it is cold, the breath from these behemoths offers added visual drama. I don’t like them licking my car though, so I tend to move on before they get too close. If the good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise, I will be back next winter to try again.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midco he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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West River Odyssey

My immediate family gathered this month in Mobridge. It was the first time we’d all been together in several years. From a family of six on the farm to a family of more than 20 scattered from Sioux Falls to California seems pretty amazing, but probably not that uncommon. I grew up roughly 60 miles west and 10 miles south of Mobridge near the Moreau River breaks. I don’t get back in that country near enough, but this was a good year to go. The rain has been abundant and the wildflowers profuse. Last season was dry, and it seems all that stunted life from a year ago has burst into its fullest measure this time around.

Before heading home, I took a notable detour to the beautiful Matthews Opera House in Spearfish to take in my friend Eliza Blue’s new album release concert. From there I wandered down through Custer State Park, where I reveled in a summer thunderstorm (until a few large hailstones caused me to flee south into Wind Cave National Park). Then I spent a day and a half in the Badlands, where I had good luck watching burrowing owls take care of their young. After that, I made my way north to the rolling hills of Perkins and Corson counties.

The real surprise of the journey was an impromptu photo tour just northwest of Bison. Sion Hanson is a friend of a friend who asked if I’d be willing to take some photos of him and some of the landmarks on his land for his grandkids. Hanson turned 60 this year and wants to pass along a little bit of the family history and legacy in images as well as stories. I didn’t quite know what to expect as we pulled out of the yard and headed north along a wheat field through the tall grass. Then we crested the hill.

As I mentioned, I grew up near the rugged and rolling hills of the Moreau River breaks along the Dewey and Ziebach county line, so I have a near-and-dear appreciation for the long draws and short grass hills topped with gravel, yucca and Black Samson flowers (also known as wild purple coneflower). What now opened before us was the south edge of the Grand River breaks, and it was breathtaking. The short grass prairie had taller than normal grass waving in the wind, and it was ablaze with wildflowers, particularly Black Samson. One of the long draws before us was where Hanson’s grandfather and grandmother had a sod house built back when the land opened for settlement in the early 1900s. Hanson’s granddad was a freight wagon driver who hauled goods to Bison from the nearest train depot to the north. Each trip was a two-day journey. We saw parts of the old road from Bison to Hettinger that survived as a fire trail, at least into the 1970s. It is mostly overgrown now.

It was an unexpected and enjoyable trip to some of our state’s truly wide-open and rugged country. To hear the history of it as well as help a new friend keep the stories and places alive for his family was quite an honor. Those couple hours of looking over the land, reminiscing and simply enjoying the view was a good reminder of how strong the family unit was and still is in these open prairies of our great state. It was only fitting that my next few days of vacation were spent making new memories with my own family at the end of this summer’s West River odyssey.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Making Memories

On my way to Selby to watch my nephews play in the high school football playoffs earlier this month, I took a side trip to Swan Creek Recreation Area on the mighty Oahe. That’s what my Uncle Jack used to call it –“The Mighty Oahe.” The last time I was at Swan Creek I was with him, and the water was so low it was one of the few places you could get a boat in on the northern part of the lake. As usual, we didn’t catch a lot of fish that day, but we enjoyed being on the water. Jack loved that lake, or more specifically, he loved catching walleye out of its waters. We didn’t get to go as often as he would have liked, but we did go enough to create many memories of fighting 5-foot swells, tangled lines and snags that seemed to take hours to undo. Every once in a while we’d catch a walleye or two to make it all worthwhile.

In late November of 2011, Uncle Jack passed away. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving. In hindsight, that could be why I took the 8-mile drive west of Akaska to see Swan Creek and the Oahe again. With normal water levels I hardly recognized it. I sat on the lake’s edge and watched a few anglers come into the dock while the sun set behind gathering clouds to the southwest. The slight wind was fresh and clean. I snapped a few photos and then drove on to the game.

November has a way of making me pause and think about those, like my uncle, who have been important in my life. Uncle Jack made his living as an artist. In my college years, I’d come home for the summers to help Dad farm, and it didn’t take long to get the call from town that Jack wanted to get together. When we didn’t go fishing, we’d often go into the Dewey and Ziebach County countrysides to scout scenes for his next painting. He had a nice camera and would often ask me to take photos of things that I normally wouldn’t think twice about — the play of light on the shoulders of a butte, or the deep shadows tucked into the folds of the creeks and waterways. It seems he also had an uncle who inspired him when he was young. I remember him saying a time or two after a particularly beautiful sunset that Uncle Orly painted that one for us in heaven.

Now that I’m older and Dad is retired, we’re the ones taking drives into the countryside when I go home to Isabel. Over the years, I’ve been able to capture some scenes that I think would have inspired Uncle Jack’s paintings. So in honor of him, I wanted to show a few of these images that remind me of him and our times together. Whether it’s the subject, like horses galloping across the prairie, or a classic South Dakota sunset, or various views of the Mighty Oahe, I think Uncle Jack would enjoy these photos, and that makes me feel good. May your Thanksgiving be filled with keeping and creating memories that your family members can cherish for many Novembers to come.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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South Dakota’s Best Breakfasts

“A timid salesman has skinny kids,” quipped a sales consultant at a recent business meeting in Sioux Falls.

That may be especially true for salesmen in sparsely populated South Dakota, where you can literally run out of prospects and even restaurants. So the smart traveling salesman of the prairie makes the most of every day, every town, every mile.

And the experienced salesman knows the advantages of starting the day right, with a tasty breakfast enjoyed in a place where the locals meet — so we asked a few road veterans to share their favorite breakfast establishment as a travel tip for the rest of us.

Joie’s Cafe — Winner

Although Wayne Hopkins of Brookings sells electrical and air conditioning parts for Nielsen’s in a four state area, he chose a restaurant in his home town of Winner. “In the winter I’d go in the cafe, just a block from my school, to have a hot chocolate and warm up. It still looks the same as I remember it 30 years ago,” Hopkins says. His favorite item is the breakfast burrito.

Brock Green succeeded his father-in-law at Joie’s years ago. Special recipes for biscuits and gravy and made-from-scratch pancakes haven’t changed. He even has his own specialty sausage, made just for Joie’s at the local Super Duper Store.

The 140-seat Main Street cafe is a Winner mainstay that was called Sargent’s when Hopkins was growing up. Visitors are welcome to sit at the businessman’s roundtable, where locals shoot dice to see who picks up the noon tab. But be careful.”Usually it’s the new guy or the guy who only had soup that gets nailed,” laughs Green. Call 605-842-3788.

ALASKA CAFE — Lemmon

Lemmon is South Dakota’s northernmost city, but it’s still a far cry from the tundra so travelers are surprised to see the Alaska Cafe sign on Highway 12 and they often stop to pose for pictures.

Inside, they get an even better taste of the Land of the Midnight Sun. Pictures of grizzly bears, moose, the Bering Strait and North Pacific fishing boats grace the walls, and proprietor Laura Casey — who runs the cafe with her daughter, Breanna Thomas — has a big compass, the only surviving artifact of her father’s commercial halibut boat that was lost in a storm. Several years after the accident, Laura’s parents moved to Lemmon and she followed seven years ago and opened the restaurant.

Amy Pravecek of Winner chose the Alaska Cafe in Lemmon as her favorite breakfast spot because “everything on their menu is wonderful and the cafe is full of friendly locals who are always willing to visit,” she says.

Pravecek is the territory manager for Phizer in western South Dakota. She travels West River back roads visiting veterinarians, animal health distributors, farmers and ranchers, telling them about Phizer’s vaccination programs.

Alaska Cafe serves breakfast from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. The big breakfast is a country fried skillet with scrambled eggs, hash browns, chicken fried steak, country gravy and cheddar sauce. Pancakes are the size of big plates.

Pravecek likes to dine on the biscuits and gravy and then take a little walk through the petrified wood park across the street. She also recommends visiting Lemmon Livestock sale barn if you are in town on a Wednesday. Call 605-374-7588.

SPARKY’S — ISABEL

Sparky’s operates from a nondescript building on Isabel’s Main Street, which is busier than you might expect because it also sits along S.D. Highway 65, a north-south corridor that cuts across West River country.

Operated by Ryan Maher, a young entrepreneur and Republican state senator, the restaurant serves three meals a day and sometimes even provides the evening entertainment, which has ranged from karaoke and country bands to pool tournaments, goat-roping and an ugly sweater contest.

Monte James of Yankton chose Sparky’s for their “All American Breakfast” — two sausage patties, two eggs, wheat toast and homemade hashbrowns. “The food is off the charts,” says James, a territory manager for Sioux Steel Company. Sioux Steel is a fourth generation family-owned business that opened in 1918 and makes grain bins, livestock equipment and other steel supplies for farmers and ranchers across the world.

James also frequents Sparky’s while announcing for the Isabel Rodeo, which he has done for the last ten years. “The locals are friendly and fond of visitors,” he says. ” They will want to know all about your comings and goings. And as the name indicates, it is not only a grill but a bar as well and the nightlife at Sparky’s is legendary.” Call 605-466-2131.

Editor’s Note: You can find more delicious South Dakota breakfast options in our January/February 2013 issue. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

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Snowy Horses

In 2008, Texas native Jennifer Zeller accepted a position marketing Quarter Horses on now-husband Zach Ducheneaux’s ranch. Says Zeller,”When I got there, Zach handed me an older model Canon DSLR and said, ‘Go nuts. You’ve got to learn to take good photos of the horses anyway!'” Zeller draws from a mixed media background when composing photos on their ranch 55 miles east of Eagle Butte. To view more of her photos or to purchase prints, visit thesouthdakotacowgirl.com.

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A Slideshow of Christmas Memories

The Christmas season is special to me for a lot of reasons. One reason is the memories. As I’ve grown older, I’ve found that this time of year brings about a mood of deep reflection. Maybe it’s the songs, maybe it’s the snow, or maybe it is simply the reminder of another year gone that gets me strolling down memory lane.

One of my favorite activities of Christmas past was when Dad would get out the slide projector and set it up downstairs. Mom would pop the popcorn on the stove and top it with real butter (one of the benefits of running a small dairy farm). If we were really lucky, she would also make her patented chocolate malts. I’ve yet to encounter any malt at any restaurant that can top hers. With goodies in hand, we’d all gather around the wood-burning stove while Dad started showing us photos of places and times long gone.

One of the best presents from my folks was a $100-plus Bogen tripod that I received as a poor college student in the early ’90s. It was at this time that I discovered my interest in actually taking photos instead of just looking at them. The folks had helped me buy a used Minolta Maxxum film camera the year before in conjunction with my birthday. It was a pretty expensive gift and I still remember Dad looking me in the eye and saying,”You better use this now. Don’t let it be a wasted gift.” Or something along those lines. Nothing like a wise father’s words to add some motivation, right?

Back to the tripod: I had asked for this as a gift because I wanted to learn to shoot photos in low light situations without a flash. My first attempts with the new tripod were shots of our Christmas tree and decorations. It was magical to capture the scene as I saw it in real life and not blasted out by a flash. Those photos are still special to me — not just because of the gift but because it allowed me to capture the Christmas setting of my childhood home and keep it intact in a photograph for all time. Plus, I still use the tripod to this day.

This year I will see my 40th Christmas, God willing. It will be a new experience as I will be visiting my oldest brother and his family in California. We might get to go whale watching if the weather permits… which I admit, makes me about as excited as a six-year-old on Christmas Eve who knows he has the biggest present under the tree.

Over the years, I have celebrated Christmas with family and I’ve spent a Christmas or two on my own. I’ve celebrated Christmas on the other side of the equator in steamy Africa and experienced the biggest chills ever to run up my spine while singing the Hallelujah Chorus with the Concert Chorale in college. Every year seems to bring new joys just as every year a few familiar faces and loved ones no longer celebrate with us. All these blessings are simply an important reminder to live gratefully. Every good photo I happen to capture is a gift. That is why I love to share them. Every day I get out of bed is another gift. Every breath, every heartbeat… all gifts. It shouldn’t take Christmas to remind me of that, but that is often what does it.

I have heard it said that the holiday season is the season of photography. I guess I don’t totally disagree with that thought. Photos of”old times gone” and new photos of”the happy now” are and will be priceless. However, my hope is that this is truly the season of love, peace and family instead of simply photos and memories. I also hope that this year, the real reason for celebrating Christmas can be remembered. After all, on that one starry night so long ago in Bethlehem, they didn’t have cameras, but they did have the ultimate gift lying in front of them wrapped in swaddling clothes. The wonderful thing is… so do we. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing our prettiest spots around the state. Follow Begeman on his blog.


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Magic Moments at Little Moreau

As if the grand landscape stretching out under the golden light of the sunrise wasn’t enough…and as much as I reveled in the sweetly scented West River breeze when the evening dew settled on the prairie grasses, it still wasn’t the highlight of my visit to Little Moreau Recreation Area near Timber Lake, SD. On my last day in the park, I had one of those experiences that bordered on magical. But let me back up a bit before I get to that story.

Little Moreau Recreation Area and I have some history together. Roughly 20 miles as the crow flies to the southwest is the ranch and farm of my youth. The picturesque Little Moreau Creek, which meanders through the park, was also the inspiration for the name of the Little Moreau Athletic Conference, of which my high school (Isabel Wildcats) was a member. To be named a Little Moreau All-Conference basketball player was a pretty big deal to me 20-plus years ago.

I also have fond memories of summer church picnics at the park. I clearly recall gathering at the softball diamond for a spirited game after we picnicked. At that age, it never occurred to me that the pastor, deacons and Sunday school teachers might be able to hit the ball into deep left field and to the trees at the edge of the creek. I’m not sure why, but playing with them and having them cheer me on as I hit the ball over the second baseman’s head is a special memory for me. It plays back in slow motion when I recall it. It pretty much is my definition of a perfect summer afternoon.

I never swam, fished or waterskied at the main dam in the park, but I watched a lone boat pull a skier in figure eights around the small surface area at sunset in early July. It reminded me of learning to ski at Isabel Lake, which was also small. You had to always turn to keep up enough speed to stay on top of the surface and avoid the tall reeds along the shoreline.

The Little Moreau Creek Valley begins to deepen just a few miles northwest of the park. By the time it exits, the beautiful valley is flanked by majestic shortgrass prairie hills as it makes its way to join the Moreau River near the small town of Whitehorse. According to the South Dakota Game Fish and Parks website, the area was used by both the Sioux and Cheyenne as winter shelter before modern times. This sheltered area also means that wildlife is abundant. Especially deer…

Which brings me back to the highlight of my time at the park. On my last morning there, I pulled into one of the picnic areas. As I got out of my vehicle and gathered my camera gear, I saw movement at the edge of the tall grass of the old softball diamond. I quietly shut the door and moved to the nearest tree.

I peeked around the tree trunk and saw two fawns moving my way. I was too far away for any good photos so I took a chance and moved to another tree about 50 feet closer when both their heads were down and eating grass.

SNAP! I stepped on a small branch right as I arrived at the next tree. I was sure the deer heard and were gone. I put my camera to my face and looked around the tree trunk. Lo and behold, the twins were still there and much closer. I held my breath and did my best statue impression. About this time the twins caught a glimpse of my CRV in the parking area and therefore didn’t seem to sense me standing there. The closest fawn was a mere 20 feet away and dappled in the beautiful morning light. I couldn’t believe what was in my camera viewfinder!

Click, click… And just like that they were gone and into the trees. I guess that is why they call it the great outdoors. You never know when something magical will happen. But I’ll tell you what, you will definitely increase your chances of experiencing greatness by spending time at Little Moreau Recreation Area. I did and have the photos to prove it.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing our prettiest spots around the state. Follow Begeman on his blog. To view Christian’s columns on other South Dakota state parks and recreation areas, visit his state parks page.



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The Isabel Artist

South Dakota has artists living in some very rural areas. We’ve met many of them. Too often their talent and accomplishments go unrecognized because they don’t have access to galleries and exhibits like their more urban counterparts. One such artist was Jack Reich from Isabel, who died in November. We featured him in South Dakota Magazine through the years and his story has always stuck with me.

Reich was born without the use of his arms and hands due to nerve damage from a breech birth. Despite that disability, he eventually learned to drive, pushed by his father who told him that he could drive the pickup truck if he could get into the driver’s seat without assistance. “I never got to the point where I could use my hands,” he told us in 2006. “But I got to the point where I could drive a car, drive a tractor and ride a horse.”

And despite the fact that Reich couldn’t use his hands, he became an accomplished artist. After discovering he could paint by holding a paintbrush in his mouth, he studied art at South Dakota State University. He wasn’t surprised by his ability. “To be able to do artwork is a talent that comes from the inside,” he said. “It will find its way out.” He excelled in landscapes of the West.

Reich worked as an insurance salesman. He also was the mayor of Isabel for 18 years and a motel owner. But when he and his wife were in a car accident near Ipswich in 2002, he lost his ability to walk. His wife, Faith, died in the accident. He turned to painting and also wrote novels to fill his days. He published a science fiction novel called From Where the Sun Stands Now, Then Forever Stands. Reich saw similarities between writing and painting. “If you can express yourself with paint, you can do it with words,” he said. “You have to have a vivid imagination — you have to be able to look beyond things and see how they might have been.”

Reich’s last novel was 46,000 words long, typed on his Dell computer using his mouth and a pointer to move the keys. His desk was in a trailer house in Isabel, a small town in northwest South Dakota. “You do what you have to do and you don’t worry about what’s wrong with you,” he said. “What’s wrong with you is not important. That’s the underlying truth.”

His life is a South Dakota testimonial to the adage that what matters most is our abilities, not our disabilities.

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Black and White Magic

Our visual reality is in living color. Vivid tones are everywhere and are used to attract our attention, warn us and even sell us things we do not need. Knowing this, a good photograph needs to have rich, true colors to catch one’s eye to make the image work… or does it? Do you remember the first time you really noticed one of Ansel Adams’ iconic black and white images? Maybe it was a shot of Yosemite or the Grand Tetons and the monochromatic image took you right into the scene and held you in awe. There is definitely magic in a well composed black and white photo. A sense of timelessness somehow accompanies all those shades of gray. Seeing the scene in a simpler, more basic way also appeals to our mind’s eye — it is almost as if a black and white photo magically renders an everyday scene into a piece of abstract art. Whatever it is, I’ve always enjoyed good black and white photography. In fact, that is how I first learned to really admire photography in general, by learning how to process black and white images in a dark room.

The good news is that modern day technology seems to have brought creating good black and white images back in vogue. In fact, I’ve noticed a resurgence of stunning black and white photography recently online and in photography magazines. I think it is due to all the new types of plug-ins and software available that gives a photographer the ability to edit images on a computer as if they were doing old school black and white photography. I’m all in. So what to photograph?

In early August, my hometown of Isabel celebrated its centennial. As part of the festivities, a three day wagon train commemorating the days of the pioneers took place. I was asked to be the photographer. Because the wagon train hearkens back to a historical time, I wanted to produce some of the images in black and white, images that look like they could be from the days of 1911. The images you see accompanying this article are some of my best results.

One of my favorite images of the whole wagon train experience is of an outrider who rode up a hill behind me to view the wagons stretched out on the prairie. His horse stood statue still facing the early morning sun as the cowboy surveyed the scene and clicked away with his disposable camera. The grass was tall and the sky was blue with wispy clouds that added a dramatic backdrop. A scene from 100 years ago? Sure, except that I’m fairly certain cowboys didn’t carry disposable cameras back in those days. If you are interested in seeing more images of the wagon train experience in color, feel free to visit my photo blog at cbegeman.blogspot.com.

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Wild and Civilized

Watching wild horses cavort on the Cheyenne Indian Reservation is like attending a soccer game without knowing the rules: the running and kicking is obvious enough but the intricacies are a mystery. However, walk among a herd of ever-moving mustangs with Karen Sussman and you soon learn that you are surrounded by a neighing civilization.

“A horse population has an education system comparable to Harvard,” says Sussman, 63, who looks more like a college professor than a guardian of a nearly lost western civilization.”Every herd has its own culture, developed from living together over eons of time if they haven’t been gathered and removed and disrupted.”

Sadly, however, disruption has been the history of wild horses in the American West. More than 60 million buffalo and two million wild horses lived here in 1850. The buffalo were nearly brought to extinction before being confined to parks and pastures; today just 23,000 wild horses and 4,000 burros still inhabit 29 million acres of public lands in 10 states west of South Dakota.

Cattle competed for grass with the horses, so some ranchers favored the cows by poisoning water holes and shooting stallions as a method of birth control. Some horses were caught and domesticated, but once the gasoline engine became popular the slaughter intensified. Pet food companies found the mustangs a cheap source of dog meat and oil companies wanted space for roads, pipelines and oil wells.

A federal law was passed in 1971 to protect the surviving herds but Sussman believes the public needs to understand the horses to preserve them. As president of the non-profit International Society for the Protection of Mustangs and Burros — the organization credited with building support for the 1971 law — she devotes her days and nights to safeguarding not just the genetic diversity of the species but also to studying and documenting the noble mustang culture.

The daughter of a Pennsylvania coalman, Sussman grew up riding horses bareback in the woods and hill country. She became active with ISPMB in 1983 when she was married and raising a family in Arizona. Six years later she became the group’s third president. She moved ISPMB to South Dakota 12 years ago, hoping to find a home for wild horses that were being removed from the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico.

When Karen Sussman walks through the Gila herd of Spanish horses, some eventually ease toward her for a nuzzle. Sussman names every horse on the ranch.

She kept the horses in the badlands of the Pine Ridge Reservation for two years before buying a patch of grass on the Cheyenne Indian Reservation about 90 miles northwest of Pierre. Now she has 350 horses on 680 acres of flat prairie grass with a few shade trees and waterholes. It is lush compared to the environments the horses knew in New Mexico and Arizona.

She hopes to add more land, and she wants to find homes for some horses. However, she’s not running an adoption agency; the ISPMB’s goal is to preserve the bloodlines and culture, and to research behaviors.

The horses on the Cheyenne Reservation comprise four herds — including the White Sands horses, a group from the Virginia Missile Ranch in Nevada, a wild herd that has descended from cavalry horses, and a herd descended from horses that came to America with the 16th century Spanish conquistadors. She won’t admit to favorites, but the Spanish horses (also known as the Gila herd because they came from Gila Bend, Ariz.) surely have a hold on her heart.

Sussman walks among them daily, observing behaviors as unobtrusive as a raised ear and as bold as a kicking frenzy. However, there is much less excitement and trouble when a band of wild horses has an intact social structure.”We believe that the Bureau of Land Management doesn’t understand the horses from a behavioral standpoint,” she says.”They too often destroy the band structure by separating the stallions. Then the younger studs take over and all of a sudden chaos can take over. The bachelor stallions will chase the mares, attack them and rape them. It’s the harem stallion who creates the order and respect among the band of horses, and no one challenges him until he becomes too old or too sick to perform his role.”

When a harem stallion is in control, fillies are not bred until they are four years old. The mares are respected and the bachelor stallions are well behaved.”But you can imagine what happens in a community if younger and younger stallions are allowed to take over who don’t have the education that is usually taught to them over a period of years by the harem stallions. It’s like having a school run not by professors but by sixth and seventh graders.” Fertility rates could jump from 10 to 12 percent to over 30 percent under such circumstances.

Wild horses develop a social structure, says Sussman, but “you can imagine what happens in a community of younger and younger horses are allowed to take over.” Unfortunately, herds are often separated by humans.

Sussman has better opportunities to observe wild horse behavior than almost anyone because she is with the horses daily — sometimes well past dark. And on a few occasions they’ve gone home to the ranch house with her. Last spring when a days-old colt suffered frostbite in a late snowstorm, she warmed him in the kitchen overnight.

Her respect for wild horses grows as she learns more about their culture.”The other day I watched a filly from one band in the herd,” she says.”She was in heat and the bachelors were all around her but she was just a year old so the harem stallion should have protected her, but he wasn’t paying attention so another stallion chased her down the hill to the water where a second harem stallion chased her right back over to her own harem. I was amazed to see two harem stallions tell her to go back to her own harem.”

She recently watched with a National Geographic photographer as a young bachelor stallion teased his harem stallion.”We saw him sneak in behind the harem with his head down. You could tell he was sneaking. Then he went after the harem stallion from the rear, bit him and raced off. It was interesting to see how well they can plot their actions.”

Sussman chronicles such antics in notebooks kept in the office of her small house, which sits near Highway 212 west of Lantry. A few barns and well-built corrals stretch around the yards, patrolled by several farm cats and dogs. She also keeps genetic records of every horse that arrives on the ranch with assistance from Dr. Gus Cothran, a Texas A&M equine geneticist.”We determine their DNA and their blood type to establish their historical background. It also tells us how much diversity is in the herd and the minimum number we need to maintain that genetic diversity.”

How mankind treats the wild horse reveals much about our civility.

Contrary to what one might think, wild horses suffer from less inbreeding than their domesticated cousins.”We think they have more genetic diversity than any breed of domestic horses,” Sussman says.

Caring for the horses seems like a dream for horse-lovers but it comes with a price tag for Sussman, who is constantly raising funds to pay feed bills and the other costs of running the ISPMB. The divorced mother of two adult daughters works part-time as a nurse at an Eagle Butte hospital. She invites interested people across the country to sponsor a horse for $150 or a herd for $5,000, but she’s betting the long-term success of ISPMB on tourism, and that’s why she’s in South Dakota.

“This is a state that believes in tourism and invests in it,” she says.”The state just brought a van full of tour guide operators here to see the horses and we’re hoping we will become a place where people come to see and learn about the horses. Through tourism we can educate people and they will be able to see horse herds that would not exist if they were not here in South Dakota.”

She welcomes visitors to stop for an hour or a day, and — being a horse trader — says the admission fee is negotiable. Visitors can safely walk among the wild mustangs. A curious mare will sometimes follow a stranger, easing closer and closer until she is near enough to nuzzle an outstretched hand. More often, a band of horses comes within a few yards to inspect a newcomer before racing off across the Dewey County prairie.

Sussman and the horses have been actively engaged in West River life. They participate in animal-assisted therapy programs for adults in a tribal alcoholism program. She has also provided horses and educational assistance to Sitting Bull School and Takini School.”Our goal is to have a lot of different activities that involve people and horses,” she says. Tribal elders help her with ideas.

Despite the many hours she spends with humans, Sussman isn’t likely to forget that her true mission is to protect and preserve wild horses. In fact, she sees tourism, education and horse stewardship as compatible goals.”Internationally, people love wild horses. I think it’s because horses are connected to every human soul all over the world. There are very few peoples who haven’t had horses in the development of their civilization.”

For centuries the horses served mankind. Now the shoe is on the other foot. The wild horse needs man. Sussman says she’s learning more about the horses as she works to save them, but the success or failure of her effort will also tell us a lot about ourselves.


Welcome, Wild Ones

Karen Sussman’s ISPMB conservation program at Lantry gives wild horses a second refuge in western South Dakota. Since 1988, author and naturalist Dayton Hyde has run the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary south of Hot Springs where 350 unwanted horses live on 11,000 beautiful acres of pine forest, sandstone buttes and wild canyons. It is one of the largest herds of wild horses in the world.

Both the Lantry and Hot Springs programs rely greatly on visitors for income. Call (605) 964-6866 for more information on the ISPMB at Lantry. The Black Hills sanctuary can be reached at (605) 745-5955.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the May/June 2009 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.