wildlife – Veness Travel Media

Simon’s problem is that he rarely sees the problematic side of anything. Susan’s problem is that she sees the problematic side of most things, but hates to squash Simon’s natural enthusiasm. It gets us into trouble sometimes, and our visit to Cattail Marsh in Beaumont, Texas was one of those times.

It all started so well. A lovely little boardwalk led out to viewings of interesting waterfowl, and we’d become exceptionally good at identifying birds, meaning, we could see them and say, “There’s a bird! There’s another bird!”

But we were up for a longer wander, and there were two gravel paths along the marsh-front to choose from. Our walk began with the following conversation:

Simon: Let’s head over to the far side and see what’s there.

Susan: You know it’s at least an hour to make the full circuit, probably more, right?

Simon: Nah, it’s not an hour.

Susan: Well…okay. It is, but, okay.

*That tree line in the background is the boundary of the reserve. Less than an hour, or more? You decide.*

One-quarter of the way around, it occurred to Simon it was at least an hour to make the full circuit, probably more, and it wasn’t easy to pull Ruthie in her wagon over the gravely path. What happened next was this:

Simon: Let’s take the short-cut through the middle.

Susan: You know that isn’t a walking path, right?

Simon: Sure it is! See? It’s flat and grassy.

Susan: It isn’t. It’s a maintenance road. But, okay.

Now, those among you who have ever been in a wetland in the South know what’s going to happen next. And sure enough, not quite half-way into it, we were met by a 10-foot-long alligator sunbathing on the bank. Even Ruthie could see the “problematic” situation we were in, so she sat quietly in her wagon as we slowly, non-threateningly walked past the gator, with the wagon between it and us.

There’s a great big gator in this photo, laying just in front of that small mound of reeds in the center of the photo. You probably can’t see it, just as we couldn’t really see it until we were nearly on it.

*Here. This actual blow-up of said gator will help.*

Long, “problematic” story made short, after several huge gators, lots of sweat, plenty of bugs, a horrible sewage smell, and more than an hour pulling that damned wagon over gravely ground we stumbled back to the car, where Simon grudgingly admitted we “probably shouldn’t have done that.”

The rest of our time in Beaumont was tame and enjoyable. We had taken the ferry over from Galveston, which in itself is a novel adventure, and were camped out at the wonderful Grand Pines of Texas, with a lovely pond, nature walk, and (unbelievably!) free laundry. Clean and quiet, it was the perfect base for Fati while we toured the area.

*Simon’s view. Susan was further up, in Nippy.*

There was a big Mural Fest going on, so we headed into downtown Beaumont for a look. Some of the murals had been created previously, but many were being worked on, and it was nice to see how many locals came out to support the artists.

*There were quite a few artists contributing to the mural count on four-sided blocks like this one.*

*In the same park as the four-sided blocks (and a bunch of vendors, bounce-houses, food trucks, etc), one big building was getting a make-over, with three massive paintings. This is one of them.*

Downtown Beaumont also boasts the World’s Largest Fire Hydrant, and even if we didn’t have a dog with us, that’s something we had to see. Honoring firefighters everywhere, the park includes a memorial to the heroes who lost their lives trying to save others during the horrendous September 11 tragedy.

Another local event we stumbled on was a cowgirl pageant at the Beaumont Botanical Gardens. Girls of all ages could sign up for the pageant, which isn’t based on anything particularly “cowgirly,” and certainly isn’t a typical “beauty contest,” but is meant to build self-confidence and, I think, offers some sort of scholarship to winners.

*Ruthie wishing she could join the cowgirl pageant. Instead, she did a butt-scoot on the grass right in front of these potential cowgirl queens. We’re so proud (no, we’re not).*

We also took a day-trip down to Port Arthur, aiming for the McFadden National Wildlife Refuge, which sounds like a big deal, and maybe it is at other, better times of year, but we only saw a small handful of standard-issue birds, and not a whole lot else.

On the way back we detoured off the main road, where massive amounts of construction were going on, having to do with some sort of refinery. Drawn in by the sight of a structure we couldn’t quite work out, we discovered the Sabine Pass Area Artificial Reefs program, where sunken structures were being turned into reefs.

*The main road went right through a processing plant.*

*Whatever this is, it’s becoming a reef.*

A day or two later, Big Thicket National Preserve offered the chance for a walk in the woods to a genuine cypress slough, with a paved path and boardwalks that would make pulling Ruthie in her wagon quite easy. And it did, for the first few minutes. Once we were committed to the journey, though, the path turned to off-roading.

*The slough reminded us a little bit of Florida.*

But we persisted, which was a good thing since it would be the last exercise we’d have for the next few weeks. Unbeknownst to either of us, and after four years of diligently avoiding it, Susan was brewing up a hefty case of Covid. Little did we know her face would really look like this a couple of days from now:

Why were so many places across the country named after a man who lost one of history’s most infamous battles, a battle aimed at genocide of the native peoples? We don’t know, and we’re not in a position to right the historical wrong or re-frame the story, but we will say the State Park named for Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer, better known as General Custer, is one hellofa fabulous park.

We could yammer on about the rolling hills and the lush greens that splash across the landscape, as if some insane artist with a passion for the verdant is forever in the process of painting and repainting according to the whims of sunlight and clouds.

rolling hills in south dakota black hills

We could wax poetic about the Black Hills specifically, and we could throw in the fact that “hills that are black” is the English translation of “Pahá Sápa,” from the Lakota language of the Sioux people, and that the Black Hills rightful return to the Sioux Nation is a long-standing, contested issue the Sioux are currently losing.

If we really wanted to get all up in ourselves, we’d casually toss in the utterly self-promoting comment that the book, Paha Sapa: Land of the Gods, mysteriously made it into the queue for The Jungle Cruise at Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom park, and therefore into Susan’s third edition of The Hidden Magic of Walt Disney World.

But we won’t spend time on those topics, because on our second full day in Hermosa we were all about animal tracking from the comfort and convenience of our car.

We had been lucky enough to see bighorn sheep in the Badlands, and you’ve already read about our encounters with bison in Theodore Roosevelt National Park, so today we were on a mission to track down a herd of majestic elk.

pronghorn in badlands national park — *This isn’t an elk*

We entered the park’s Wildlife Loop not far from our campground, and first up on our sightings checklist were the burros, fondly nicknamed the “begging burros” for their willingness to eat whatever you’ve brought them (more accurate than “willingness” is “insistence”). Hence, they’re super friendly, and come right up to you rather than waiting for you to approach them.

Their hearty ancestors were pressed into service nearly a century ago, toting tourists and their paraphernalia up Black Elk Peak from the Sylvan Lake Lodge. Only a small herd is left, but they’ve been roaming wild ever since their forebearers’ tourism-based employment end. Most of them are descendants of the originals, but a few of the burros are donated newcomers.

Having frittered away the morning working, it was well past lunchtime when we found ourselves caught up in another bison jam, so we got out our sandwiches and spent nearly an hour enjoying their wanderings, their playful calves, and one truly peevish specimen who wanted to pick a fight with everyone.

We don’t know what the deal is (probably salt from the roads?), but this herd also had a liking for licking cars, starting with the one parked in front of us. And again, one of the bison gave us the stink-eye through the front window, then spent about five long, long, long minutes alongside Nippy, deciding if it wanted to ram us or just move on.

simon viewing bison custer state park — *Scary bison makes a decision*

A certain dog in the back seat was riveted, but this time she didn’t bark. She just sat there making little huffing sounds, clearly aware now that the beasts surrounding us were much bigger than she is.

ruthie viewing bison custer state park — *Must. Not. Bark!*

We moved on when they moved on, and had a lone male on a side road nearly to ourselves as we made our way to Custer, with Needles Highway as our next major adventure.

We did stop at Calamity Jane Coffee Shop in the cute town of Custer to help Simon deal with his lack of caffeine, and while I’m not usually a coffee drinker, I got one anyway and it was honestly the best cup of mocha and Joe I’ve ever had. Sadly, Jane wasn’t on hand that day, but her employee was friendly and the bathroom was clean. Score!

Needles Highway is a 14-mile scenic drive punctuated by the most outrageous granite spires that were pushed up sideways by the forces of nature. Every turn reveals a thrilling aspect, and we goggled at the magnificence and took selfies like the tourists we are.

South Dakota’s governor, Peter Norbeck, mapped out the entire trail that would become Needles Highway on foot and on horseback. It’s so winding, and has so many tight turns, it takes nearly an hour to drive just 14 miles, even longer with stops for panoramic photos. But you want to go slow, because this is prime elk territory, and we’re out for elk sightings today. Right?

There are three tunnels along the highway, carved through the rock by wind, rain, and the area’s harsh winter weather. Each tunnel is impressive, but we’ve never seen a tunnel more impressive than the Needle’s Eye. Nippy is small, but Simon could touch the side of the Eye as we drove through.

We agreed we’d have to come back and do Needles again, next time stopping at the lovely Sylvan Lake for a stroll and a picnic lunch. When we finally did that a couple of days later, the weather suddenly turned freezing cold, and was hammering down with rain and pounding with thunder and lightning, so we sat in the car and had lunch while feeling very, very sorry for a bridal party running through the storm to get to the lake’s reception hall, with all the girls in sheer, sleeveless formalwear and the bride’s veil whipping in the wind.

sylvan lake custer state park — *This is what Sylvan Lake looked like three minutes before a massive thunderstorm hit*

After Needles we went back to the Wildlife Loop, where the Visitor Center assured us we’d have a chance at spotting elk as dusk came on. Instead, we saw deer and lots of pronghorn, including the wonderful treat of a mama pronghorn and her baby, with daddy not far behind.

pronghorn mother and baby custer state park

pronghorn mother dad and baby custer state park

We made two more trips into Custer State Park after that, determined we’d see elk, but to no avail. To add insult to injury, a couple we got to chatting with at the campground said they’d seen a herd of elk right on the road the previous evening, at around 6:30 p.m., which was about 15 minutes before we arrived at the same spot that same evening.

Would it take until Yellowstone before we’d see elk, or would South Dakota be kinder to us than that? Either way, what a grand and exciting place for wildlife and for absolutely magnificent scenery. But Custer wasn’t done surprising us yet.

Tag: wildlife

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