Badlands National Park 2015 | Part Four

Castle Trail/Medicine Root Loop
4.22.15

Castle Trail

It was still a ghost town at Cedar Pass Lodge when we left our cabin on our third morning at Badlands National Park. Once again we walked over to the Cedar Pass Restaurant for breakfast before heading to the trailhead. We planned to hike Castle Trail, an out-and-back hike by itself that can be combined with another trail—Medicine Root Trail—to make a loop of 6.6 miles.  It’s a nice day hike provided the weather isn’t too hot, which...you know.

Left: Indian Fry Bread with berry pudding   Right: Cedar Pass Lodge

Castle Trail/Medicine Root Trail loop combo

The weather today was actually much better. Although it was still windy and freezing in the morning, it was sunny and the temperature would eventually rise into the 60s in the afternoon. We started out hiking in warm layers and wool hats, but eventually we were able to take our jackets off as it warmed up.  

We returned to the parking lot where most of the park’s trails are accessed and found only a single car parked in its long expanse and no other sign of human activity.  Two turkey vultures were perched high on the Badlands Wall. Lurking. Waiting.

It happened to be Earth Day.  I hope everyone took a few minutes to show their eroded sedimentary rock formation how they feel.  

At the beginning of Castle Trail, there is a bulletin board with trail descriptions and safety information regarding heat, dehydration, the lack of shade or water on the trails, cacti, and rattlesnakes. There is also a backcountry registration box for those venturing into the backcountry. Backcountry camping does not require a permit here, and backpackers can set out off-trail and camp anywhere in the park.  There are no trails to follow in the backcountry, and due to the severe nature of the landscape—extreme heat in summer/cold in winter, violent summer storms, non-availability of water anywhere within the park—exploring far into the backcountry should be attempted only by experienced, well-prepared hikers.

Left: Cautionary messages  Right: Red stakes mark the way along Castle Trail

The backcountry registration box had been defaced—with good intentions—by other hikers.  Scribbled notes regarding Castle Trail offered pointers on how to avoid getting lost immediately. This appears to be a frequent occurrence; messages scrawled with escalating urgency gave advice like “Go left,” “Look up,” “Don’t go down river bed,” and “Don’t proceed until you see red marker,” and were accompanied by “Listen to these people,” and “Pay heed people!” with arrows pointing to the previous notes. This stood out as not run-of-the-mill graffiti, and it grabbed our attention.  

Paying heed as directed, we took a minute to look around, stopping ourselves from proceeding to the right, down what looked deceptively like a trail but was likely the riverbed mentioned in one of the cautionary notes. We looked to our left and eventually spotted the first red trail marker up a hill in the distance.

Castle Trail starts out in a dry grassy area, winding past the occasional rock formation. Before long the formations become more frequent, sometimes appearing majestic, rising in pyramids and turrets, and other times looking decrepit, like an unearthed, ancient crumbling canyon.

The trail itself follows pretty easy terrain; there are some rolling hills, but no steep climbing. The ground can be a bit rough, and prickly pear cactus grows within the grass in some areas (not to mention rattlesnakes can be present when it’s warm), so appropriate hiking shoes should be worn.  We saw several female bighorn sheep throughout the hike, and they watched us with cautious curiosity. Only four other hikers crossed our path. 

Around three miles in, at the intersection of three trails—Castle, Medicine Root, and Saddle Pass—we headed northeast on Medicine Route Trail to begin the loop back.  This trail guides hikers through a flatter, grassier area, with Badlands formations to the south, and prairie to the north.  It is interesting hiking between these two extremes; the jagged peaks and spires of the Badlands formations in the distance on one side, and on the other side, a mostly empty, flat grassy expanse.

Green stakes mark Medicine Root Trail

Standing out oddly in a landscape otherwise devoid of such features, fields of a variety of rocks suddenly appear in a few locations on both Castle and Medicine Root Trails.  These rocks do not look like they belong; it is as if they were dumped here from another location and then spread out across a few open areas.  After doing some reading of the geological information available on the NPS website, it appears this actually is the case.  If I understand correctly, these rocks are part of what is referred to as “Medicine Root Gravels”: rocks that were carried here from the Black Hills and deposited in this area a few million years ago by fast-flowing rivers.  (If anyone knows of another explanation for the existence of these rocks, let me know.  But I will probably cover my ears and not listen because this scenario is mind-blowingly fascinating to me.)

There was still just one other car in the trailhead parking lot when we got back.  When we returned to Cedar Pass Lodge, we discovered another cabin was now occupied.  This place was getting far too warm and crowded; it was time to go.

We decided to stay at our cabin for dinner, and we dug into the contents of our box of camp food for various meal options.  I chose my favorite dehydrated meal, Mary Jane’s Farm Chilimac, which I prepared on our front porch with our Jetboil stove.  It was still windy, but the sun was warm, and I stayed outside on the porch for as long as I could tolerate the wind and I started developing a nice sunburn above the v-neck of my t-shirt to compliment my windburned face.

Sunset at Cedar Pass

As was the pattern on this trip, the wind died down in the evening, and I walked around the Cedar Pass area, enjoying the surroundings on our last night in the park.  The grassy area across the road from Cedar Pass Lodge was a good spot to watch the sunset, and I watched the sky turn magnificent shades of orange behind a silhouette of Badlands peaks. Afterwards I returned to our cabin and sat outside as the sky darkened and the crescent moon rose, and watched stars break out across the black expanse of the big sky.

I don't have proper equipment for night photography, so this is the best I could do.

We left Badlands National Park the next morning, taking a northern route home through South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, and finally Michigan.  I fell in love hard in Madison, WI with a huge black Labrador retriever that was waiting patiently outside Gotham Bagels, wearing the most solemn expression I’ve ever seen on a dog.  A year and a half later, I’m still not over it.  

Left: Lonely road in South Dakota.  Right: This dog tried to mesmerize me into buying it a lox bagel in Madison, WI.

Badlands National Park 2015 | Part Two

Notch Trail and Door Trail
4.20.15

Formations on Notch Trail

I woke up in our cabin at Cedar Pass to gleaming sunlight sneaking through the cracks in the closed blinds and the realization that I didn’t have to hurry to do anything. Based on our experience arriving at the park last night, it appeared we were the only humans around for miles aside from the lodge employees, and since we had abandoned our plan to camp and were instead staying in this cabin for our entire trip, there was no rush to secure a campsite or get out on the hiking trails early to avoid crowds.  Plus, although the sun was shining brightly, I could hear the menacing wind outside, and a check of my phone’s weather app revealed that it was 27ºF.

I twisted the blinds open so I could see the formations behind the cabin while I continued to lay in bed and enjoy being lazy, something I’m not accustomed to doing on my usual vacations.  It was below freezing outside, the park was deserted, and as excited as I was to get out and explore the landscape, I was in no hurry to do it before 10am.

I was careful not to let my senses get me down by fooling me into thinking it was only 20º when it was actually a balmy 27º.  And yes, I took a screen shot of the weather as a memento.

Once we were ready for breakfast, we walked from our cabin to the Cedar Pass Restaurant and took in our surroundings. Ours was the only car at the cabins, and cottontail rabbits were enjoying the use of it as shelter from predatory birds. During our stay here, the rabbits hung around outside the cabins, not the least bit bothered by us, but constantly on alert for non-human threats in their exposed habitat.

The restaurant and gift shop were quiet, and we sat at a table by a window looking out on a tall pinnacle across the road.  I chose the Indian Fry Bread with berry pudding, which was very good.  We planned to take a couple of short hikes today, followed by some scenic driving within the park (details will follow in Part 3).  After breakfast we drove to the parking area where four of the park’s established hiking trails are accessed. There was one other car in the parking lot, and the wind was the only sound.

The sky was still clear and the sun was bright, but the wind was cold and intense. At the beginning of Notch Trail, a sign warns of rattlesnakes, which are common in the park. We would have liked to have seen one from a safe distance, but it was a bit too early in the season and too cold for them to come out of hibernation yet. We were wearing hats, gloves, and multiple layers under puffy jackets as we set off on Notch Trail. The trail traverses a dry grassy area to an opening in the Badlands Wall - a major formation in the park that spans approximately 60 miles east-to-west and is made up of a continuous series of buttes and spires. It was like walking into an extraterrestrial ghost town.

Notch Trail

Notch Trail is short but very interesting.  The path winds through a canyon before climbing up the face of the formation using a long, steep ladder made of logs.  The trail then continues at a higher elevation, where hikers are immersed in the dramatic alien landscape.  The trail ends at an abrupt drop-off with a view of the White River Valley. This is an out-and-back route, so hikers are given the opportunity to see everything again on the way back.  The trail is only a mile and a half round-trip, and we were done in under an hour.

The ladder on Notch Trail

Notch Trail: Looking down at the valley after climbing the ladder, which can be seen on the left.

Left: Hiking the upper part of Notch Trail.  Right: The view of White River Valley at the end of the trail.

SCIENCE How the Badlands were formed – condensed version:  Many millions of years ago, a shallow sea covered the Great Plains of North America.  Over time, sediments built up on the sea floor and hardened into shale.  The eventual rising of the Black Hills and Rocky Mountains to the west caused the sea to drain away.  Over many more millions of years, the former sea bed became a flood plain, as rivers flowing from the mountains deposited layers of gravel, mud, and sand on top of the former sea floor.  Large amounts of ash from volcanic activity west of the Badlands were also deposited onto the plains.  Around 500,000 years ago, rivers began carving through the sedimentary rock layers.  What was once a flat floodplain became an otherworldly landscape of banded buttes, jagged peaks, and colorful mounds created by the force of water carving paths through layers of geologic time. Abundant fossil deposits in the exposed layers of ancient rock provide a wealth of historical information; according to the National Park Service, the Badlands National Park area is considered the birthplace of vertebrate paleontology in North America. (https://www.nps.gov/badl/index.htm)

Up close to sedimentary formations on Door Trail

500,000 years is the blink of an eye in geologic terms, and up close it is easy to see how fragile this sedimentary landscape is.  It is eroding at a very fast pace – about an inch is weathered away each year by rain and wind.  Eventually the Badlands formations will disappear.  Scientists estimate that at the rate the formations are eroding, it will be only another 500,000 years before they are gone.  It becomes clear how short the Badlands’ lifespan is when compared with the Grand Canyon, parts of which recent research suggests may have begun forming as early as 70 million years ago.

A mountain bluebird and the boardwalk at the entrance to Door Trail

Back at the trailhead, a flash of bright blue caught our eye.  A mountain bluebird was perched at the tip of a low branch of a dead shrub, the soul inhabitant of the parking lot, swaying side-to-side in the strong wind (hence the blurry photo). I have never seen a bird that blue, and its color appeared especially striking due to the change in the sky. Steel gray clouds were gathering, providing a dramatic backdrop for the scenery on our next adventure:  Door Trail.  Here, visitors are led at first along a boardwalk through a “door” in the Badlands Wall.  The boardwalk was installed around 2000 to protect the path from rapid, human-caused erosion.  Once through the “door,” impressive layered buttes and turrets rise in the distance, and hikers can venture out onto the rugged desert terrain, with yellow trail markers as a guide to prevent getting lost.  

Photo taken by Craig on Door Trail. Note the firm stance and the fabric of my pants plastered against my legs by the intense wind.

Scenes from Door Trail

If the wind hadn’t been so overwhelming, I could have spent most of the day wandering around this area.  It was spectacular.  The striking features against the dramatic sky resulted in many of our photos looking fake, like an intensified cloudy sky was Photoshopped behind the formations, and our brightly-clad figures digitally dropped in front. 

After Door Trail, we drove north to take in the view at the nearby Big Badlands Overlook before returning to Cedar Pass and embarking on the scenic driving we had planned.  The first overlook when driving east-to-west through the park, Big Badlands Overlook offers a panoramic view of miles of banded rock formations.

Big Badlands Overlook

As we returned to Cedar Pass, we noticed movement in the tall grass ahead of us.  It was a group of four male bighorn sheep, and I pulled to the side of the road to watch them, thinking maybe I would be lucky enough to get a few photos from far away with my zoom lens before they disappeared. Because the park was all but deserted, there were no other cars on the road, and we didn’t have to worry about holding up any traffic.  (Not a single car passed us during this time.)  The rams walked slowly through the tall brown grass toward the road, where they began grazing on the short green grass that grew along the road’s edge.  

Of the four, one appeared more mature; he was larger, with more substantial horns showing some dark age rings.  We did not intend to purposely get closer to them, but as we sat quietly watching, the rams strolled along the edge of the road toward our parked car, heads down and grazing most of the time.  They came closer and closer, eventually walking past us just outside the passenger door, paying us no attention whatsoever.  Being able to stop the car and observe animals was one of many pay-offs we would receive as the park’s only human inhabitants during this cold visit. 

For a video of these rams walking past our car, go here.

To be continued in Part Three: Landscapes and Wildlife

Badlands National Park 2015 | Part One - Prologue

Road Trip to Another Planet

April 2015

During this current season of record-setting warm weather in Badlands National Park (70s and sunny in mid-February), I find myself reflecting on the previous spring, when temperatures frolicked below freezing, and the wind howled with hypothermia.  It was April 2015, and I was looking forward to a relaxing, mild-weathered vacation.  Let’s go back...

(Map at end of post.)

Hail splattered loudly against my Ford Explorer’s roof as we turned off the nearly empty South Dakota highway and began following a desolate side road, passing an iconically shaped sign announcing that we were entering Badlands National Park.  The flat, low clouds that had been floating casually over the endless grasslands had suddenly darkened and gathered with purpose over the park entrance, greeting us with perfectly timed hostility.

We had driven for two days, leaving Michigan and driving through Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, and a lengthy stretch of South Dakota, to reach Badlands.  I had been in the mood for a road trip and some car-camping, which we hadn’t done in quite a while, and I had wanted to visit Badlands for a long time, particularly since my sister’s impromptu trip there five years before.  She had driven to Chicago to visit friends and ended up in South Dakota on a whim.  The photographs she returned with were otherworldly and incredible, and Badlands jumped several spots on my list of places to visit in the near future.  Now, revisiting my own photographs and videos, seeing the alien landscape and hearing its sounds, has me wanting to return.  It is one of the most unusual and striking places I’ve ever visited.  And definitely the weirdest.

Spectral stagecoach and a human skeleton walking a T-Rex skeleton.  The usual stuff.

The car strategically packed with backpacks, hiking boots, camping gear, and far more food than was necessary, we set off on the 18-hour journey on a Saturday in late-April.  The plan was to stop at the mid-point—about halfway through Iowa—for the first night, but we decided to roll the dice with accommodations.  We did not have a specific destination in mind; we would either find a place to camp, or stay in a motel depending on how we felt and what we found.

Driving long stretches across the American Midwest is a torturous combination of the fascinating and mundane.  As anywhere, there are stretches that are beautiful and depressing, exciting and monotonous.  One’s opinion of an entire state can be formed by driving through it on a highway, which can sometimes be unfortunate.  Take Iowa: Interstates lead travelers through endless stretches of flat, unvaried farmland, which makes for a long and tedious drive.  I have heard tales of the state’s beautiful sights, but I have never seen one.  Magnificent countryside no doubt exists off the beaten path, beyond the seemingly infinite rows of corn and soybeans, and off the radar of out-of-state drivers who are passing through.  Or not.

Still, road trips are fun.  The strategic music selections.  The rest areas, gas stations, and terrible coffee.  The excitement of crossing into a new state, even if it’s no different than the one before.  The temptation to keep driving and not go back.  

Road trip montage: South Dakota traffic, 29N to Sioux City, never-ending Iowa, The Dead Weather

We reached Des Moines and called it a day.  After a few minutes of driving around the city and looking for places to eat, we found ourselves at The Royal Mile, a British-style pub and a good find for weary travelers in need of food and a little Jameson.

After dinner, we ventured west of the city and found a small, inexpensive motel in De Soto.  The motel was clearly empty; not a single car was parked in the lot, and the vacancy sign glowed from its front window.  Despite this, when we inquired about a room, the man in overalls working at the desk made a big production of checking to see if there was anything available.  After crossing the room to study a small corkboard with various hand-written notes stuck to it, he returned to the desk, opened a drawer that we could see was filled with keys to every single empty room, and rummaged around in it, murmuring to himself thoughtfully.  The anticipation was intense; we really hoped he could help us out.  Finally he decided he had a room for us, and handed us a form to complete.  He asked if we’d eaten and advised that, aside from the gas station/food mart next door, our options were an “authentic Mexican restaurant” in one direction, “but if you go the other way—nothin’!”  He said this with a chuckle and a facial expression that said, “Iowa, am I right?!” and we decided we liked him despite his earlier deception.  

In our room was the most exotic reading material I had ever seen: issues of Corn and Soybean Digest and Farm Futures magazines.  I wondered if motels in various parts of Michigan stock their rooms with regional commodity-related publications, and if road-trippers from Iowa react to them as I did these: hysterical laughter followed by abrupt silence at the realization that we need farming to live, then introspection—How would I feel if someone laughed at Blueberry Business* magazine while traveling through West Michigan?  (Insulted, as blueberries are cute and delicious, and they make excellent jam.)

(*This is not a thing.  But if it was, I envision the cover shows a single blueberry sitting on a conference table surrounded by various corporate moguls studying it pensively, with a monitor on the wall behind them displaying financial information.  I don’t know why, but there is also a secret service agent standing stoically against the wall, wearing sunglasses.)

The following morning we continued heading west into thick fog.  As unfortunate as it normally is to have to drive in those conditions, the fog was a welcome (hindrance to) sight because it lent a little mystery to the otherwise mind-numbing, seemingly endless drive through Iowa.  One-by-one, massive wind turbines slowly emerged from the fog as we drove, their tall, ghostly white pillars invisible until we passed close enough to them to discern their towering shapes from the fog.  These were bigger than the turbines I’m used to seeing near home, and their eeriness was transfixing; they appeared like giant, murky phantoms, their enormous blades turning in slow-motion.  None of the photos I took of them from the passenger window of the moving car came close to capturing their scale or creepiness.

The fog lifted later in the morning, and our anxiousness to reach the South Dakota border increased with every mile.  The sights in the next state would be unchanged for a while before the landscape began to transform, but at least we would be in a state neither of us had seen before, and at some point the speed limit would increase to 80 mph, which was something to look forward to.  We abruptly turned north at the Iowa-Nebraska border, skirting the state line until the three states converge at Sioux City along the Missouri River.  We crossed the river on a bridge and continued north into South Dakota, stopping in Sioux Falls for lunch at Phillips Avenue Diner. 

 I ordered a Coke with the Chicken and Waffles and hadn't taken 3 sips before a new one was plopped down in front of me.  There are 2 gigantic, full Cokes just out of frame.  'Merica.

From Sioux Falls we headed west to begin the long stretch across the state to Badlands National Park.  The further west we drove, the more open the landscape became.  Farms were replaced by vast grasslands, and the sky seemed to expand, making it obvious why parts west are referred to as “big sky country.”  Vastly different than looking up at the sky in Michigan, out there the fact that the limitless sky stretches for an infinite distance is somehow more plain to see.  Everything is big and open and exposed, projecting a sense of the magnitude of our country’s landscape—of how immense it is and how small we are. 

We drove at a liberating and legal 80 mph through the sweeping South Dakota grasslands, watching as the sky became increasingly cloudy, with shafts of sunlight breaking through in patches and casting cold light on the earth below.  At long last, we spotted the first in an endless series of signs advertising the infamous Wall Drug, which meant we were getting close. (...ish. The signs begin beckoning travelers very early, and they go on and on to a comical extent.)  I don’t remember exactly where, but a billboard in a small town advertises the last chance to obtain gasoline for a very long stretch.  It is not exaggerating, and I advise heeding its warning and stopping for gas if there is any doubt.  After this it’s a barren, Mad Max-esque landscape with no gas station, restaurant, or rest area in sight for a seemingly infinite stretch of highway.  Nothing but road and sky and Wall Drug signs increasing in frequency and steadily convincing you of your interest in cowboy boots and donuts.  Then suddenly: a jagged rock formation in the distance!  We had arrived.

Our plan was to spend the first night in Badlands at Cedar Pass Lodge, a cluster of cabins within the park.  After that we were going to camp in our tent at either the Cedar Pass or Sage Creek campground, or a combination of both.  It was a little early to check in at the lodge, so we decided to visit Wall Drug first, which is about five miles north of the park.  Wall Drug is a must-see, simply because it is a paragon of Americana.  We bought ice cream and walked around the various shops, browsing the souvenirs and taking everything in before getting back on the road and heading back to the park.  

Regarding the weather:  Since the beginning of the cross-state drive from Sioux Falls, the wind had been positively brutal.  Without exaggeration, I would estimate its velocity at around 700 mph.  I expected windy conditions in this part of the country; however, this was far beyond anything I had imagined.  My Explorer lurched from side-to-side on the highway from the force of the wind.  The wind tore the heavy car door out of my hand when I opened it, and I struggled to get it closed again against the wind that wanted to force it to remain open.  It was like being in a cartoon and struggling against an extreme force in order to do the simplest of things.  For most of the day the sun shone brightly in the sky, but the wind cancelled its warmth. 

I researched the local weather during the planning of this trip.  I'm not a big fan of hot summer weather, and the majority of places that interest me tend to be cold; however, I had experienced my share of frigid vacations over the last several years and wanted a change.  Although the park’s weather can be unpredictable, late-April seemed like a good time to avoid both crowds and temperature extremes.  When my sister visited Badlands a few years ago, she went in mid-May, and the weather was hot.  Her photos showed desert flowers blooming colorfully, and rattlesnakes warming themselves in the sun along hiking trails.  Based on this and a review of the weather information posted at the National Park Service website for the park, it appeared the weather in late-April would be mild, with highs in the upper 60s, and lows around 40.  A check of the forecast before we left indicated we would have temperatures in the 50s and 60s, but we packed clothing for all types of weather to be safe.  I think it’s obvious where this is going. 

Spontaneous hail storm as we approach the entrance to Badlands National Park

My excitement built as we turned south onto SD-240 and made our way toward the northeast entrance of the park, closing in on the jagged formations we had spotted in the distance earlier.  The sky had steadily darkened since we left Wall Drug, and as we passed the welcoming NPS sign, a sudden hailstorm exploded over us.  Slowing down to a crawl due to lack of visibility, we marveled at the scenery and the volatile weather.  It was like we were on Mars, and the angry planet was letting us know we were not welcome.  Luckily the hail did not last more than a few minutes; we paid the park entrance fee, and a park map was passed between the kiosk and my car’s open window, hands grasping it in a death grip against the relentless wind.  

The sun worked its way through breaks in the clouds as we drove toward the Cedar Pass area on the winding Badlands Loop Road, with spectacular scenery all around us.  We didn’t get far into the park before we pulled over and got out of the car, simply because we were amazed and wanted to stand and stare.  It was the most unusual place either of us had ever seen.  It was like the set of a movie that takes place on another planet—but a low-budget movie, where the backdrop looks fake.  I was in love.  

Stopping to stare.  Were we really here?

There were no other cars on the road, and the park appeared deserted as we pulled into the Cedar Pass Lodge parking lot.  We would soon learn that April is not a popular time to visit the park.  Upon check-in, we noticed a posting of the updated weather forecast for the upcoming week.  It was not good: wind, and lows in the mid-20s.

We planned to spend four nights in the park.  Aside from this first night in a Cedar Pass cabin, we intended to camp during the rest of our stay.  Camping in the cold is one thing, but camping with lows in the mid-20s combined with the vicious winds we had been experiencing was not a pleasant thought.  Would we be able to spend any time outside at our campsite, or would we be confined to our tent, with the relentless wind beating against it?  Would we be able to cook anything in that wind?  Would we be able to sleep?  Would our tent collapse?  With these thoughts in mind, we inquired regarding cabin availability over the coming days, just in case.  The lodge employee who checked us in was genuinely surprised when we told her how many days we planned to spend in the park.  Her response was something like, “Four nights? Here? The whole time?”  We did plan to spend one day outside of the park, but yes, that was our plan, and we were starting to wonder if there was something we were missing, like a planned nuclear test or well-known ancient curse that we had somehow overlooked during trip planning. 

The inside of our cabin at Cedar Pass

The back porch of our cabin at Cedar Pass

We drove to our cabin to settle in and decide what to do for dinner.  The lodge has a restaurant, but we also had a car filled with food, so our options were endless, provided we stuck to those two things.  The cabins at Cedar Pass are fairly new, and they are simple and beautiful inside.  We had a view of some Badlands formations from the back porch, which faced the area where the Ben Reifel Visitor Center sits.  The weather had cleared up, and fluffy white clouds now drifted in the brilliant blue sky.  It had turned into a beautiful day despite the cold and wind.

There is a convenience store and two small bars nearby, but nothing else.  We decided to make hotdogs at the cabin, and we drove to the store to pick up a few items we did not bring, namely alcoholic beverages and mustard, which I had somehow forgotten.  The woman working at the convenience store found us fascinating.  She asked what we were doing in the area, and when we replied that we were visiting the park, she did not hide how weird she thought that was before pointing me in the direction of the store's single jar of mustard.  When I returned to pay, she seemed as though she was really trying to suppress further scrutiny but just could not let us go without further clarification.  As I turned to leave, she said, “Ok, I’m going to be nosey.  Where are you staying around here?”  It was as if there wasn’t a national park down the street.  I explained that we were staying in the park and planned to do some camping, which I assumed was reasonable, but was clearly mistaken.  “In the park?”  She chuckled and said something about different people liking different things.  Where were we?

The park entrance as the sky cleared up

We returned to our cabin, and after struggling against the wind to bring some of our stuff inside, we held a meeting over a few pours of whiskey at the hand-hewn pine table.  Camping was going to be miserable if this weather continued, which it evidently intended to do.  Although I had very much been looking forward to some quality tent time, I also wanted to enjoy my vacation, and I had to admit defeat.  We decided to stay in the cabin for the duration, and we returned to the office to blow their minds with our declaration of setting up shop in their establishment for the next few nights.  Aside from one other guest who was leaving in the morning, we were the only ones there, so availability was not an issue.  We were henceforth “the ones who are staying here,” said in hushed voices whenever we were spotted.

As odd as this all was, it made a little more sense over the following days as we had the park almost to ourselves, and the cold and wind persisted.  It appeared people don’t really start visiting Badlands until May, and those we did see during our stay seemed to be taking in the park via one scenic drive as they passed through to somewhere else.

After a fabulous hotdog dinner and a little more whiskey, I ventured out to explore our surroundings.  Dusk was just beginning to settle in, the sky turning a soft purple behind the various peaks and spires.  Unfamiliar and beautiful birdsong filled the air, and I searched until I found the source: a western meadowlark.  I grew to love its song, and it’s one of my fondest memories of the trip.  I walked around for an hour or so before returning to our cabin for the night.

Cedar Pass area at dusk

Night at our cabin at Cedar Pass

The wind calmed down in the evenings, but during each day it was ferocious, preventing us from sitting outside at our cabin despite how sunny and inviting the outdoors looked from our window.  But in the plus column, having the park to ourselves made for some relaxed scenic drives, and we were able to see everything at our leisure, stopping whenever we wanted a closer look at something, without having to worry about holding up traffic.  It also meant virtually no one else on the hiking trails, which was a bonus.  I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Badlands National Park, but when I hear about the unseasonably warm temperatures of the current winter season and see photos on social media of park visitors wearing t-shirts in February, I can’t help but want a do-over.  

A video of the Cedar Pass area at dusk can be seen here.

To be continued in Part Two: Notch Trail and Door Trail