wild horses – Veness Travel Media

Some of our adventures begin with “It all started out so well.” This is one of them.

With three hours to kill before we could check in at our new campground in Green River, Wyoming (just 15 miles from the Rock Springs Walmart, whose parking lot we spent the night in after we drove two hours longer than we’d planned to), we popped into the Rock Springs Visitor Center to get some local knowledge about what to do in the area.

Along with the famous Flaming Gorge, we were told to drive out to the White Mountain Petroglyphs, visit the Killpecker Sand Dunes, and take the scenic Wild Horse Loop as great ways to spend time and soak up some natural wonders.

Each time we talk to a Visitor Center person we tell them three things: We have an elderly dog who can’t hike more than a mile round trip; we want to avoid high places with sharp drop-offs; and we’d like to skip any dirt roads, to avoid damage to our little Nippy.

*Our Ruthie. In Nippy. With Simon. And a treat.*

In this instance, we pointed at Nippy and at our elderly dog, just outside the Visitor Center’s front window, to drive home the point, having been totally ignored by another Visitor Center representative who only told us about long hikes in his area, which were, apparently, his favorite thing to do.

No problem at all, we were assured. We should go to Flaming Gorge, of course (“Well, yes, there are sharp drop-offs, but they only last a few minutes,”), and we should also go out to the White Mountain Petroglyphs, which include what is now called Birthing Rock, a secluded spot where Native American women went to give birth. The highlight of the place was that you could see fingernail marks in the rock, where laboring women tried to cope with their pain.

Okay, odd, but count us in!

We should also drive the Wild Horse Loop in the evening, and see where thousands of wild horses live, our girl said. The loop would take an hour or two, depending on how often we’d stop. Then, on another day, the Killpecker Sand Dunes are “so much fun,” we should go there and do some dune surfing.

Perfect! We’d do the petroglyphs before checking in at the campground, the Wild Horse Loop the next day, then fit in the unfortunately-named sand dunes and Flaming Gorge, with a day in between to do some work. Plan made!

*This isn’t us in Wyoming. It’s us at an Orlando City Soccer game, with our hair covered in beer from the people behind us. But this is how we feel when a plan comes together.*

CR-191 heads north out of Rock Springs, and it’s a smooth, paved road into the “Red Desert.” We quickly left the city behind and were passing an increasingly dry, desolate landscape of low, gray-green sagebrush, tufted bunchgrass, some sort of spindly yellow flower, and sand, made even more godforsaken by the harsh summer sun hammering down on us and on the swirling dust-devils.

A sign pointed to the turnoff for the road leading to the petroglyphs, and we were mildly dismayed to discover it was, in fact, a gravel road. But it was an “improved gravel road,” meaning, it had recently been watered and graded. Okay. Not too bad. And it was only 17 miles to our destination.

Within minutes, we both agreed if that monstrosity was “improved” we’d hate to see what an unimproved gravel road was like. Unfortunately, after 10 rough, pitted miles, we found out. Some of the cracks created by winter’s run-off in the not-at-all-improved road were so deep we were reminded of the Guernsey Ruts, and extensive holes full of tire-sucking sand threatened to end our journey in the ditch, with a slipped Nippy.

One lone pronghorn watched our progress, and we were certain it was thinking, “What idiots.” Three wild horses turned to observe us briefly, surely wondering if we had a death wish. A small herd of cattle paused mid-chew to give us looks that indicated we were the kind of people who should return to the comforts of the city. Now.

*After they looked upon us with scorn, they turned their backs and shunned us altogether.*

But we pushed on.

We’d gone more than 17 miles, but there wasn’t a petroglyph or birthing-worthy rock in sight. We’d been traveling parallel to a cliffside for many, many miles, but it was never closer than a mile or so away. We could see quite a way down the “road,” in front of us, but there were no signs indicating our destination was imminent. Where the actual hell were we?

Several miles back, it had begun to dawn on us we had one individual-serving-size bottle of water, no extra gas, no cell phone service, and a dog with very little hind-quarter muscle mass, who could never make it back to the main road. Not only that, but we were totally alone. Some pissed-off rancher could come out and shoot us between the eyes, hide our bodies in the shrubbery, and never spend a moment in prison for the murder of two tourists who didn’t have the sense God gave a goat.

*We absolutely are not going to compare ourselves to the brave pioneers who faced immense hardship while founding this great country, but really, sort of, we are.*

If the car broke down or we got a flat we could probably make it back to the main road, but there was no way our Ruthie would survive the desert of the damned.

It was time to call it.

So near, yet so far, and with the Grim Reaper’s hot breath on our necks, we turned Nippy around and prayed we’d make it back to pavement.

You’re reading this, so it’s obvious we did. But only just.

*It was windy, too.* *No one can be expected to bear this with grace.*

We’ll spare you the next day, when we ventured out for the Killpecker Sand Dunes, which turned out to be much, much further down that same horror of a dirt road. We won’t mention our dismay when we switched gears and decided to do the Wild Horse Loop instead, which (say it with us) was also down an ass-end-of-nowhere road.

This isn’t the Wild Horse Loop. This is the super-easy, get-there-on-a-paved-road Horse Corral we found the next day, where the Bureau of Land Management rounds up wild horses and auctions them for adoption. Wild herds can double every 3-4 years, and, if left in those numbers, most would starve to death.

Later, when we read the multi-page booklet we were given by the Visitor Center, we discovered additional information we hadn’t been told. The fine print for these locations insisted:

“Grab your camera and binoculars, pack plenty of food and water, and make sure to travel in a fueled-up AWD (all wheel drive) vehicle and always let someone know where you will be going and when you will be back.”

Oh, and by the way, it’s a steep, nearly two-mile round-trip hike to the petroglyphs from the road, through sand and shrub and probably loads and loads of infuriated rattlesnakes.

*Since we didn’t get to see the petroglyphs, we made our own.*

That is the kind of information you give to people who don’t own trucks or cowboy boots. The kind of people who carry designer purses or wear Ray Ban sunglasses. In short, us. We’re the people who need to be told.

But we won’t be the people who need to be told next time, because we learned the lesson and survived to tell the tale. So, in the end, it’s a story of triumph. Right?

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit buffalo

Where do we even begin? With the epic wildlife, the rugged buttes and valleys that make up the landscape, or the absolute vastness of this national park that has launched itself into our top favorite places in the U.S.? It’s the easiest blog to write due to our enthusiasm, and the hardest due to the immensity of its impact on our minds and our hearts.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit selfie — *As with all photos, you can’t get the scale of the landscape behind us. It’s just…huge!*

We won’t bore you with the facts around President Roosevelt’s hand in protecting 230 million acres of land and establishing the National Parks system, or the history of the mounds, buttes, ridges, and points that make North Dakota one of the most distinctive landscapes we’ve seen so far, save to say each layer that now makes up the area’s badlands was formed, evolved, and, in some cases, was laid bare over the course of 65 million years. It’s a big number, but as we drove the Scenic Loop in the park’s South Unit, and later, the North Unit, “big” was a word that took on new meaning.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit long view — *Everywhere you look there’s a gorgeous view to enjoy*

Still in awe of the seemingly endless farmlands and prairie lands as we drove from Bismarck to Medora, the small (and very touristy) “cowboy” town where we had a reservation the Red Trail Campground, the landscape changed, and almost without warning we were looking at colossal sandstone, siltstone, and mudstone “mountains” towering over deep valleys with rolling green hills and meandering rivers.

Red Trail Campground Medora SD — *Fati resting after her exertion, and Nippy getting ready for a scenic drive*

That morning, as we headed to Medora, we agreed we’d spend the evening and the next day catching up with work, then visit the South Unit on our second full day and the North Unit on our third full day. Obviously, that was a stupid and unrealistic plan, and our first trip into the South Unit saw us chomping at the bit as we entered the park around 7pm on the evening of our first day, lured by the promise of prairie dog towns and a greater chance at seeing wildlife around dusk.

Just minutes after entering the park we came upon our first prairie dog town, where hundreds of the adorable little rodents with almond-shaped eyes and sticky-uppy tails were going about their evening grass munching, while “sentinels” kept watch, throwing their whole upper bodies backwards and their arms upwards while emitting the cutest bark imaginable as part of their warning system.

It was straight out of a David Attenborough documentary, and Simon could have stayed there watching them until dark, but after about 20 minutes and a bit of prompting, he pointed Nippy up the hillside to see what else was in store.

The landscape had us utterly captivated, and over the course of three days we never grew tired of seeing the majestic hills and valleys.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit landscape — *We’re not sure what the flowering yellow plant is, but it smells great!*

But we had buffalo to find, and again, it wasn’t long before we spotted one, then drove alongside three more, so we congratulated ourselves on our incredible luck.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit lone buffalo — *The lone straggler*

We weren’t going to do the entire drive that first evening (made longer due to the south part of the loop being closed, so it was an out-and-back journey), and just before we turned around we were treated to a small group of wild horses, which capped off an excellent evening of wildlife viewing.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit wild horses

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit wild horses sunset

The next day we went up to the North Unit, fueled by the bacon and pancakes I made because I’m no quitter and was determined I’d be up to the challenge. The drive was a bit more difficult due to a stretch of Highway 28 being closed, so we had to detour about 66 miles, round trip, out of our way. Along the way, Simon saw a sign for Killdeer Mountain Battlefield, and being the sort of person who cannot pass anything by if it has even the slighted hint of interest for him (and despite the fact that he’d been wondering about finding a restroom for quite some time), he made the decision to find the battlefield, and he was unanimous in that.

Killdeer battlefield graves — *Obviously the fiercest battle in the west*

Long, unpleasant story short, it involved 16 miles round-trip on a dirt road (which he hates but thought there might be a restroom at the end of), a farmer and his son who angrily confined us on their property by locking the gate along the road so we couldn’t get out (stupid people that we are, as indicated by the sign on his gate that made some unfathomable reference to Stupid People, and the fact that the obscure battlefield monument was just a foot or two outside his gate and nearly impossible to see), and what can only be called an extremely disappointing monument to a grand total of two people who died on the “battlefield.”

kildeer battlefield farmer's gate — *The Stupid People sign, meaning us. This was our view after we unlocked the gate and made our escape when the farmer drove away*

Simon’s face says it all.

killdeer battlefield memorial — *The opposite of impressed*

The North Unit is supposed to be the part of the park where wildlife is at a maximum, but we only saw a couple of small herds of buffalo, both at a distance. We did see remarkable “cannonball” rock formations, created by minerals pouring through sediment layers, which Ruthie found as fascinating as we did.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit simon on cannonball rock

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit cannonball rock landscape

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit cannonball rocks ruthie

It was back to the South Unit the next day, and as magnificent as the park’s big picture is, the smaller details are equally compelling, and often we felt we were looking at structures created by the hand of Antoni Gaudi, architect and designer of Barcelona’s grand basilica, La Sagrada Familia. In the same way Gaudi’s Nativity Façade seems to be “melting,” so too do some of the water-and-wind-weathered rock formations.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit melting rocks — *Melty rock*

But today nature had three very special gifts in store for us. The prairie dog town, seemingly in just 48 hours, had sprouted dozens and dozens of babies! Tiny and hilarious and full of the joys of spring, they wrestled and barked and made sure their cuteness captivated hearts, and we spent a long time watching their antics.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit prarie dog babies — *Terrible zoom photo, but you can see how tiny they are*

The buffalo took things a step further. As we came down a hillside into a deep valley, there they were, in their hundreds.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit large buffalo herd — *One side of the road, with more on the other side, and they just go on and on*

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo herd

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo with baby — *We saw so many babies!*

One massive herd took up both sides of the road, and the road itself. We inched our way forward, hoping the people behind us were happy to go slow too, until we found a parking space in the cutout, and that’s when things took an unexpected turn.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo scratching on car

This buffalo loves cars. It licked the pickup truck two cars down from us, it rubbed its head against their grate, then it moved on to the car next to us, and finally, as dessert, it began licking our car, chewing on the hookups for our tow bar, and looking us dead in the eye when Ruthie started barking.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo looking in front window

Now, let’s just say buffaloes have huge heads, and those heads have pointy bits. We’ve seen videos of cars the size of Nippy being turned into metal hamburger by enraged buffalo. So when this one came up to Simon’s window and stood there looking at him, we, and everyone around us, wondered what might happen next.

What happened next was, it felt it had made its point without using its points, and it was right. It moved on, leaving us with a thrilling if slightly terrifying memory we’ll treasure forever: The day Nippy got licked by a buffalo.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Unit buffalo looking in side window — *Eye to eye with a buffalo*

If you’ve read this far, you’ve done well. We did have one more special encounter waiting, when we came across not one but two coyotes prowling a prairie dog town. We thought we might witness the circle of life, but they decided to lay down for a nap instead, which was probably just as well. We weren’t sure we could watch prairie dogs being eaten.

Of course, we have no photos of this encounter. They were just out of reach of our zoom lenses. Instead, imagine two scraggly gray coyotes laying in a field, and you’ve pretty much got the picture.

We returned to Medora that evening, a funny little town that was quite touristy, but not obnoxiously so, and while we skipped the $50 per person Medora Music show everyone we’ve talked to since has asked if we saw (we live in Orlando, where shows are second to none but buffalo are non-existent), we did see the tractor parade, and that was enough for us.

Tag: wild horses

That’s How People Die

What Theodore Roosevelt Did Best