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| How many are your works, Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Psalm 104:24 |
Monday, September 1, 2014
Yellowstone Bison
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Family Photo at Family Bible Camp with the Edwards Family
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| Village Creek Bible Camp 2014: Jackson and Edwards families: united through Christ! |
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Thursday 6, Friday 7 and Saturday 8 August
The first thing we noticed when we entered the Park was that travel was going to be a lot slower than we were expecting. Not because of the winding, high-elevation roads (although that slowed us down later as well). Just past the entrance, the driving slowed to walking pace. After a fair distance at this pace, during which I got out to walk alongside the road with several of the kids, we saw the first hint of what everyone had slowed down to look at. There was a very fresh pile of scat lying in the middle of the road. The traffic started to pick up at that point, and we all got back in the car. Soon we grabbed our cameras as we finally glimpsed the cause of all the fuss: a bison was lying comfortably by the side of the road. We were very excited to see a bison so close, a mere distance of several metres away. One of the Yellowstone Park rules is that bison may not be approached closer than about 25yds (20m), but of course this doesn't apply when the animal has chosen to lie itself down right beside a main road.
Coming in from the west entrance, the road follows the Madison River to the Madison Information Station, where the road branches north and south. We were planning to head south towards the geysers, fumaroles, hot springs and mud pots of the 'geyser country' in the Yellowstone volcano caldera. If you don't understand most of those words, don't be surprised; we didn't either until we learnt by seeing and reading the signs alongside the paths and boardwalks. We stopped at Madison to collect our Junior Ranger booklets and purchase a few souvenirs.
Our first view of a geyser was a steaming pool on the edge of a river and it drew great excitement. But that was nothing compared to the number of hydrothermal features (hot water spots) we saw over the next three days. I have been to Rotorua in New Zealand before, but this was even more amazing. There are over 300 geysers in Yellowstone. This is the greatest concentration of geysers in the world - over two-thirds of the world's geysers are in this park.
We walked along the Fountain Paint Pots boardwalk for almost a kilometre around hot spring pools coloured a deep blue by the single-celled microorganisms that are able to withstand the temperatures of 95*C. At the edges of the pools, the water has dried leaving white salt crystals. As the water runs out of the pools, it changes colour, from yellow to orange to brown to green as the water cools and provides the perfect temperature gradient for different bacteria or algae. It is an amazing testimony to the genius of our Creator that he has chosen to make a place so inhospitable to human life (think boiled alive) into the perfect habitat for creatures that would decorate their home with such lovely colours to delight the human eye.
Along the walk we also saw an example of mud pots, where the hot water that spews forth is so acidic that it breaks down the surrounding rock, creating a bubbling cauldron of mud. This one was typically muddy brown, but on our last day in the park we drove past Sulphur Cauldron, a mud pot which is a bilious green due to the sulphur dioxide produced by the thermo-acido-philes (heat and acid loving microorganisms) that make that muddy pool their home.
Finally we walked past several geysers. These are places where steam and boiling water jet into the air from underground, heated by volcanic magma in rock fractures below the ground. Geysers leak steam fairly continuously, in white clouds that billow forth bringing warmth and the occasional rotten egg smell. Some geysers spurt water fairly continuously, others intermittently. Of those geysers that go off in periodic bursts, some do so regularly and others are unpredictable. These differences rely upon the dimensions of the underwater reservoirs where water builds up under pressure before it finally jets forth to the surface. We heard a rumbling grumble from deep in the earth just before one of the geysers went off beside us. We were thankful to be on the boardwalk, with signs all around us warning us not to leave it lest we should step upon one of these geysers at just the wrong time, or break a hole through the thin rock crust to the boiling water below.
The most famous of the Yellowstone geysers is Old Faithful, where we arrived around 5pm. It was 'scheduled' to go off at 5:27pm, according to the Ranger's calculations posted at the Visitor Centre, which they base upon the length of the eruption before. Each eruption lasts between 1min30sec and 5min, and the shorter the eruption, the shorter the wait until the next one, with durations of 60min to 90min between eruptions. The Ranger's estimate has a +/- 10min window, and their prediction this time was well within these limits, starting at 5:31 and lasting for around four minutes. It was a very impressive sight, even if we were very cold from waiting in the rain for Old Faithful to release her waters.
Being far to the north, in the later month of summer, the sun is setting late here. We were able to eat some sandwiches in lieu of the lunch we had missed and then drive east to the continental divide, which crosses the park road at a pretty little lake strewn with lily pads. This means, rather strangely, that water from one end of the lake must drain to the Pacific Ocean in the west and water from the other would run towards the Atlantic Ocean to the east. Then we turned back and returned the way we had come, past Old Faithful and Madison. Just past Madison we once again slowed for traffic, which was lining the sides of the road as people stopped to watch mule deer browsing in the river-side meadow. We didn't stop for long because it was getting dark, but continued on to the western park entrance and our hotel in West Yellowstone, a mile outside the park border. There we enjoyed a very late dinner at the hotel restaurant before collapsing exhausted in bed.
The next day we all enjoyed breakfast at the hotel restaurant (kids ate free, hip hip hoo-ree!) before once again lining up to show our annual pass to enter the park. This time at the Madison junction we turned north, towards Mammoth Hot Springs. This is another of the more famous locations of the park, and we had seen lots of pictures of the vast hillside of terraced pools trickling water, which had raised our hopes. This late in summer, however, most of the pools were either dry or, at the very least, not overflowing, so the image of a waterfall that covered an entire bare hillside was not to be seen. It was beautiful, nevertheless, and I am very thankful that Mr Jackson left me waiting with the kids at the car while he walked down the steps and climbed back up again on his own. He arrived back at the top dripping sweat and gasping for breath (the altitude is well over 2km here, higher than any point in Australia), much like pretty much everyone else who chose to climb the staircases to the top. At Mr Jackson's suggestion, I walked down with the kids, while he drove the car down to meet us at the bottom near the Visitor Centre. There was one place where a hot waterfall still streamed and steamed down the white hill and through a series of terraced pools, orange with algae that flourished in the hot water.
At Mammoth, we ate sandwiches again for lunch and then listened to a Ranger talk on the management and mis-management of wolves in the park throughout the years. We were able to feel a soft wolf pelt (from a road kill victim) and a replica wolf skull, which caught Sam's imagination particularly. At one stage the Yellowstone wolves were hunted and the National Parks Service even had a bounty on their pelts. With a sudden decline in wolf numbers the elk population rapidly increased, since wolf packs hunt elk. The over-abundance of elk damaged the alpine meadows, and the open valleys became barren wastes. At their peak, there were 20,000 elk in the park, but since the re-introduction of grey wolves, the population of elk has stabilised around 7,000 (four of whom were grazing placidly on the green lawns by the Visitor Centre) and the natural meadows flourish once again.
Leaving Mammoth, we headed east, and stopped at a Petrified Tree. This tree, once a redwood, was covered by volcanic ash along with two of its fellows many years ago, and turned to orange stone in a similar process to that with which fossils are formed. The other two trees are no longer to be found, having been damaged by souvenir hunters who took pieces over the years, though they can be seen in photos taken in the early 1900s. Only one petrified tree remains, enclosed in a padlocked fence to prevent the same happening to it.
Across the car park from the ancient tree, we found the beginning of a backcountry trail to Lost Lake. We decided to hike this trail, and Mr Jackson quickly apprised himself of our can of bear spray and backpack with drinking water. This was the first - and only - hiking trail we walked without seeing other people the entire three days of our visit. It was pleasant to meander along, just our family for once, making quite enough noise to warn any nearby bears of our approach well in advance. Just a few steps down the trail we saw three large grey mammals sitting together on a fallen tree trunk, which I tentatively identified as pika. Then we followed the trail along the bank of a tiny chuckling streamlet, through an alpine meadow thick with pale, pretty wildflowers: white, yellow, purple, pink. We startled a ground squirrel or two, but saw nothing larger. Around a turn in the hillside, we glimpsed Lost Lake, thunder rumbling and warning us to walk a little faster. As we drew closer, a light rain shower began, and we took shelter under a tree whose bark had been stripped by elk or mule deer. The grassy soil close to the edge of the lake was spongy and springy, reminiscent of our trampoline at home.
On our way back to the car, the storm heralded by the earlier thunder broke upon us with heavy rain and sudden, sharp hailstones. We were soon drenched! Some of us were excited by the rain, but others were decidedly not. By the time we arrived back at the car park, the kids were well and truly ready to strip off their soaked clothes and dress in the raincoats we had naively left behind in the car. That marked an end to our adventures for the day, with Samuel very upset by his unexpected soaking, so we bundled into the car and set off for West Yellowstone again.
Our route this time took us south and west as we completed a clockwise circle of the upper loop of the park road, which forms a figure 8. We had now traversed all but the south-east portion of the road, and that would be tackled on our final day in Yellowstone.
Friday night we talked about our plans for Saturday and decided we must forgo my planned visit to Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho, where I had hoped to spend Saturday night before driving on to Salt Lake City for Sunday afternoon church. Instead we planned to visit Canyon Visitor Centre, at the centre of the eastern side of the figure 8, and then turn south to Grand Teton National Park, before overnighting at Montpelier, just inside Idaho.
This we proceeded to do after checking out of our hotel, one of the nicest of our trip so far. The line for the park entrance was the longest we had seen, over a mile, extending into the township of West Yellowstone. But once we were past this, the congestion eased, and before I knew it Mr Jackson was telling us all to get out at the Canyon Visitor Centre. This name refers to the nearby 'Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone', the third famous landmark of the National Park, from which it takes its name. The Yellowstone River is the largest of many rivers that courses through the park, and just south of the Visitor Centre the river plunges over two mighty waterfalls and into a canyon so deep and wide that the eye cannot comprehend it. It truly rivals the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River, which we shall visit next week.
The walls of the Yellowstone River Canyon flow with bands of iron-rich white, orange, brown and - of course - yellow stone, inspiring its name. Paintings of this canyon were instrumental in convincing the federal government to pass into law the act which created the first national park in the world here in 1872. We stopped at several vantage points along the north rim of the canyon, the first to view the Lower Falls, the second to admire the colour palette of the canyon walls and rushing water far below.
Time was getting on, and I was not a little frightened at the prospect of my children tumbling over the edge to the green water below. So we returned to the car and drove on to Fishing Bridge Visitor Centre, just in time to listen to a Ranger talk on bears and safety around them. The main rules are: walk in groups of three or more, make noise while you walk, always carry bear spray, and if you see a bear, don't run. Stand still, and use your bear spray if the bear comes any closer than 18m. If the still comes closer, drop to the ground stomach down with your hands over the back of your neck and stay there for 10-15min. (In the ranger's words, this will be "the longest 15 minutes of your life". We didn't see any bears in the park, but it was good to know what to do just in case.
We did have several close encounters with bison, which are responsible for four times as many injuries in the park as bears are. This is because people underestimate the huge beasts and get too close for comfort. At one stage we came across a herd of bison grazing in a valley meadow, and emerged from the car to take photos, making sure to stay the recommended 25yds (20m) away. Even Sam was brave enough, with reassurance, to have his photo taken with bison in the background. Earlier, while driving through the Hayden Valley, a bison had crossed the road just ahead of us. He went grunting and snorting right past our car, as we stopped to give him as much room as possible. I could have reached my hand out the car window and touched his shaggy coat, but wisely kept my fingers on the camera shutter instead.
It was well into the afternoon when we exited from the south entrance of the park and crossed into the John D. Rockefeller Memorial Parkway and then into Grand Teton National Park. Spectacular scenery abounded, but that will require another post, since we are about to arrive at our accommodations in Montpelier, Idaho (our 10th state).
The first thing we noticed when we entered the Park was that travel was going to be a lot slower than we were expecting. Not because of the winding, high-elevation roads (although that slowed us down later as well). Just past the entrance, the driving slowed to walking pace. After a fair distance at this pace, during which I got out to walk alongside the road with several of the kids, we saw the first hint of what everyone had slowed down to look at. There was a very fresh pile of scat lying in the middle of the road. The traffic started to pick up at that point, and we all got back in the car. Soon we grabbed our cameras as we finally glimpsed the cause of all the fuss: a bison was lying comfortably by the side of the road. We were very excited to see a bison so close, a mere distance of several metres away. One of the Yellowstone Park rules is that bison may not be approached closer than about 25yds (20m), but of course this doesn't apply when the animal has chosen to lie itself down right beside a main road.
Coming in from the west entrance, the road follows the Madison River to the Madison Information Station, where the road branches north and south. We were planning to head south towards the geysers, fumaroles, hot springs and mud pots of the 'geyser country' in the Yellowstone volcano caldera. If you don't understand most of those words, don't be surprised; we didn't either until we learnt by seeing and reading the signs alongside the paths and boardwalks. We stopped at Madison to collect our Junior Ranger booklets and purchase a few souvenirs.
Our first view of a geyser was a steaming pool on the edge of a river and it drew great excitement. But that was nothing compared to the number of hydrothermal features (hot water spots) we saw over the next three days. I have been to Rotorua in New Zealand before, but this was even more amazing. There are over 300 geysers in Yellowstone. This is the greatest concentration of geysers in the world - over two-thirds of the world's geysers are in this park.
We walked along the Fountain Paint Pots boardwalk for almost a kilometre around hot spring pools coloured a deep blue by the single-celled microorganisms that are able to withstand the temperatures of 95*C. At the edges of the pools, the water has dried leaving white salt crystals. As the water runs out of the pools, it changes colour, from yellow to orange to brown to green as the water cools and provides the perfect temperature gradient for different bacteria or algae. It is an amazing testimony to the genius of our Creator that he has chosen to make a place so inhospitable to human life (think boiled alive) into the perfect habitat for creatures that would decorate their home with such lovely colours to delight the human eye.
Along the walk we also saw an example of mud pots, where the hot water that spews forth is so acidic that it breaks down the surrounding rock, creating a bubbling cauldron of mud. This one was typically muddy brown, but on our last day in the park we drove past Sulphur Cauldron, a mud pot which is a bilious green due to the sulphur dioxide produced by the thermo-acido-philes (heat and acid loving microorganisms) that make that muddy pool their home.
Finally we walked past several geysers. These are places where steam and boiling water jet into the air from underground, heated by volcanic magma in rock fractures below the ground. Geysers leak steam fairly continuously, in white clouds that billow forth bringing warmth and the occasional rotten egg smell. Some geysers spurt water fairly continuously, others intermittently. Of those geysers that go off in periodic bursts, some do so regularly and others are unpredictable. These differences rely upon the dimensions of the underwater reservoirs where water builds up under pressure before it finally jets forth to the surface. We heard a rumbling grumble from deep in the earth just before one of the geysers went off beside us. We were thankful to be on the boardwalk, with signs all around us warning us not to leave it lest we should step upon one of these geysers at just the wrong time, or break a hole through the thin rock crust to the boiling water below.
The most famous of the Yellowstone geysers is Old Faithful, where we arrived around 5pm. It was 'scheduled' to go off at 5:27pm, according to the Ranger's calculations posted at the Visitor Centre, which they base upon the length of the eruption before. Each eruption lasts between 1min30sec and 5min, and the shorter the eruption, the shorter the wait until the next one, with durations of 60min to 90min between eruptions. The Ranger's estimate has a +/- 10min window, and their prediction this time was well within these limits, starting at 5:31 and lasting for around four minutes. It was a very impressive sight, even if we were very cold from waiting in the rain for Old Faithful to release her waters.
Being far to the north, in the later month of summer, the sun is setting late here. We were able to eat some sandwiches in lieu of the lunch we had missed and then drive east to the continental divide, which crosses the park road at a pretty little lake strewn with lily pads. This means, rather strangely, that water from one end of the lake must drain to the Pacific Ocean in the west and water from the other would run towards the Atlantic Ocean to the east. Then we turned back and returned the way we had come, past Old Faithful and Madison. Just past Madison we once again slowed for traffic, which was lining the sides of the road as people stopped to watch mule deer browsing in the river-side meadow. We didn't stop for long because it was getting dark, but continued on to the western park entrance and our hotel in West Yellowstone, a mile outside the park border. There we enjoyed a very late dinner at the hotel restaurant before collapsing exhausted in bed.
The next day we all enjoyed breakfast at the hotel restaurant (kids ate free, hip hip hoo-ree!) before once again lining up to show our annual pass to enter the park. This time at the Madison junction we turned north, towards Mammoth Hot Springs. This is another of the more famous locations of the park, and we had seen lots of pictures of the vast hillside of terraced pools trickling water, which had raised our hopes. This late in summer, however, most of the pools were either dry or, at the very least, not overflowing, so the image of a waterfall that covered an entire bare hillside was not to be seen. It was beautiful, nevertheless, and I am very thankful that Mr Jackson left me waiting with the kids at the car while he walked down the steps and climbed back up again on his own. He arrived back at the top dripping sweat and gasping for breath (the altitude is well over 2km here, higher than any point in Australia), much like pretty much everyone else who chose to climb the staircases to the top. At Mr Jackson's suggestion, I walked down with the kids, while he drove the car down to meet us at the bottom near the Visitor Centre. There was one place where a hot waterfall still streamed and steamed down the white hill and through a series of terraced pools, orange with algae that flourished in the hot water.
At Mammoth, we ate sandwiches again for lunch and then listened to a Ranger talk on the management and mis-management of wolves in the park throughout the years. We were able to feel a soft wolf pelt (from a road kill victim) and a replica wolf skull, which caught Sam's imagination particularly. At one stage the Yellowstone wolves were hunted and the National Parks Service even had a bounty on their pelts. With a sudden decline in wolf numbers the elk population rapidly increased, since wolf packs hunt elk. The over-abundance of elk damaged the alpine meadows, and the open valleys became barren wastes. At their peak, there were 20,000 elk in the park, but since the re-introduction of grey wolves, the population of elk has stabilised around 7,000 (four of whom were grazing placidly on the green lawns by the Visitor Centre) and the natural meadows flourish once again.
Leaving Mammoth, we headed east, and stopped at a Petrified Tree. This tree, once a redwood, was covered by volcanic ash along with two of its fellows many years ago, and turned to orange stone in a similar process to that with which fossils are formed. The other two trees are no longer to be found, having been damaged by souvenir hunters who took pieces over the years, though they can be seen in photos taken in the early 1900s. Only one petrified tree remains, enclosed in a padlocked fence to prevent the same happening to it.
Across the car park from the ancient tree, we found the beginning of a backcountry trail to Lost Lake. We decided to hike this trail, and Mr Jackson quickly apprised himself of our can of bear spray and backpack with drinking water. This was the first - and only - hiking trail we walked without seeing other people the entire three days of our visit. It was pleasant to meander along, just our family for once, making quite enough noise to warn any nearby bears of our approach well in advance. Just a few steps down the trail we saw three large grey mammals sitting together on a fallen tree trunk, which I tentatively identified as pika. Then we followed the trail along the bank of a tiny chuckling streamlet, through an alpine meadow thick with pale, pretty wildflowers: white, yellow, purple, pink. We startled a ground squirrel or two, but saw nothing larger. Around a turn in the hillside, we glimpsed Lost Lake, thunder rumbling and warning us to walk a little faster. As we drew closer, a light rain shower began, and we took shelter under a tree whose bark had been stripped by elk or mule deer. The grassy soil close to the edge of the lake was spongy and springy, reminiscent of our trampoline at home.
On our way back to the car, the storm heralded by the earlier thunder broke upon us with heavy rain and sudden, sharp hailstones. We were soon drenched! Some of us were excited by the rain, but others were decidedly not. By the time we arrived back at the car park, the kids were well and truly ready to strip off their soaked clothes and dress in the raincoats we had naively left behind in the car. That marked an end to our adventures for the day, with Samuel very upset by his unexpected soaking, so we bundled into the car and set off for West Yellowstone again.
Our route this time took us south and west as we completed a clockwise circle of the upper loop of the park road, which forms a figure 8. We had now traversed all but the south-east portion of the road, and that would be tackled on our final day in Yellowstone.
Friday night we talked about our plans for Saturday and decided we must forgo my planned visit to Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho, where I had hoped to spend Saturday night before driving on to Salt Lake City for Sunday afternoon church. Instead we planned to visit Canyon Visitor Centre, at the centre of the eastern side of the figure 8, and then turn south to Grand Teton National Park, before overnighting at Montpelier, just inside Idaho.
This we proceeded to do after checking out of our hotel, one of the nicest of our trip so far. The line for the park entrance was the longest we had seen, over a mile, extending into the township of West Yellowstone. But once we were past this, the congestion eased, and before I knew it Mr Jackson was telling us all to get out at the Canyon Visitor Centre. This name refers to the nearby 'Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone', the third famous landmark of the National Park, from which it takes its name. The Yellowstone River is the largest of many rivers that courses through the park, and just south of the Visitor Centre the river plunges over two mighty waterfalls and into a canyon so deep and wide that the eye cannot comprehend it. It truly rivals the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River, which we shall visit next week.
The walls of the Yellowstone River Canyon flow with bands of iron-rich white, orange, brown and - of course - yellow stone, inspiring its name. Paintings of this canyon were instrumental in convincing the federal government to pass into law the act which created the first national park in the world here in 1872. We stopped at several vantage points along the north rim of the canyon, the first to view the Lower Falls, the second to admire the colour palette of the canyon walls and rushing water far below.
Time was getting on, and I was not a little frightened at the prospect of my children tumbling over the edge to the green water below. So we returned to the car and drove on to Fishing Bridge Visitor Centre, just in time to listen to a Ranger talk on bears and safety around them. The main rules are: walk in groups of three or more, make noise while you walk, always carry bear spray, and if you see a bear, don't run. Stand still, and use your bear spray if the bear comes any closer than 18m. If the still comes closer, drop to the ground stomach down with your hands over the back of your neck and stay there for 10-15min. (In the ranger's words, this will be "the longest 15 minutes of your life". We didn't see any bears in the park, but it was good to know what to do just in case.
We did have several close encounters with bison, which are responsible for four times as many injuries in the park as bears are. This is because people underestimate the huge beasts and get too close for comfort. At one stage we came across a herd of bison grazing in a valley meadow, and emerged from the car to take photos, making sure to stay the recommended 25yds (20m) away. Even Sam was brave enough, with reassurance, to have his photo taken with bison in the background. Earlier, while driving through the Hayden Valley, a bison had crossed the road just ahead of us. He went grunting and snorting right past our car, as we stopped to give him as much room as possible. I could have reached my hand out the car window and touched his shaggy coat, but wisely kept my fingers on the camera shutter instead.
It was well into the afternoon when we exited from the south entrance of the park and crossed into the John D. Rockefeller Memorial Parkway and then into Grand Teton National Park. Spectacular scenery abounded, but that will require another post, since we are about to arrive at our accommodations in Montpelier, Idaho (our 10th state).
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Little Bighorn Battlefield, Crow Agency (Indian Reservation Land), Montana to West Yellowstone, Montana
Wednesday 5 August Little Bighorn Battlefield, Crow Agency (Indian Reservation Land), Montana to West Yellowstone, Montana
Providentially, our motel was opposite a laundromat, and I spent the morning hours catching up on three loads of washing while the kids took their time eating waffles for breakfast and watching cable television. Their favourites are Nickelodeon, the Disney Channel and Cartoon Network.
Well, I use 'favourites' loosely; that's all they are allowed to watch.
At breakfast I was interested to observe a family of Amish who had stayed at the same motel. The girls were dressed in very long pinafore skirts and blouses, the boys in trousers, shirts and braces (no belts). They were a large family, travelling back from the Yellowstone to their home in Illinois, and they were travelling in a large van, rather than the traditional black horse-drawn buggy Mr Jackson and I saw in Amish Country in Kansas back in 2010. Their family was larger than ours, however, so they would hardly have fit in one of those small traps, and I imagine horses are not considered au fait on the interstate.
When we finally were repacked and loaded into the car, we crossed yet another state border into our 9th state, Montana. Having visited historical sites related to westward expansion and the army build-up related to tensions between American settlers and American Indians, it seemed appropriate to finish this part of our trip with a stop at Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, also known as the location of "Custer's Last Stand".
Around 1874 the Fort Laramie Treaty was made, promising that the Oregon Trail forts would be abandoned by the army if the Indians would cease hostilities agains settlers. Soon after that, the President of the United States, Ulysses S. Grant, made a further treaty with the Indians to provide food, shelter and other basic necessities for all Indians who made reservation lands their home. However, any Indians who were found off the reservations would be considered hostile by the army.
This situation was further complicated when a government survey unit discovered gold in the Black Hills, in western South Dakota (now the site of Mount Rushmore). The Black Hills had been ceded to the Indians in one of the many treaties, because they were considered sacred by the Lakota. The Lakota Indians refused to hand them over when the American government tried to renegotiate the relevant treaty. But gold-hungry white men poured into the Black Hills, treaty or not, angering the Indians.
Some Indians were happy to settle in the reservations in return for sides of ham and blankets. Others resided in the reservation lands during the winters, when the snow-bound land was harsh and forbidding. Still others, notably Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, refused to enter reservation lands at all, seeing it as forsaking their culture. In the winter of 1875-6, the government failed to keep its promise of food and starving Indians left the reservations in droves.
Grant sent various cavalry units to round up the recalcitrant Indians and force them onto the reservations. Three groups of soldiers were sent from Fort Ellis in Montana, Fort Abraham Lincoln in the Dakotas, and Fort Fetterman in Wyoming. The Wyoming soldiers abandoned plans to meet with the other units after a large battle with Indian warriors in the north of their state rendered them unable to continue further. The other two units met near the Little Bighorn river, in what is now Crow Reservation land.
The Little Bighorn is a meandering river, whose course is marked by trees which provide the only green in a landscape of rolling golden hills and occasional sandstone cliffs. In late June of 1876, it was the location of a large but temporary Indian village comprising Indians gathered from the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes who had deserted the reservations when the promised food didn't arrive. Army intelligence estimated this village to have 700 or 800 Indians, but the real figure was closer to ten times that number.
When the 7th Cavalry units under Custer's command to the west discovered the Indian village in the morning of 25 June 1876, Custer thought that the warriors must be off on a hunting trip, because he could only see elderly people, children and women about the camp. He thought this a prime opportunity to attack the camp and hold the vulnerable Indians hostage until the warriors returned. He sent a message back to the pack train asking them to send the pack on (with its loads of ammunition) because he had found a 'big village'. The reinforcements never arrived, because the eastern cavalry units were facing their own battles with Indian warriors and one unit, under Reno, had already lost around fifty men. But it would have made little difference since Custer had been very mistaken in his assumption. 1500 to 1800 warriors were in fact sleeping late in their teepees, and when Custer tried to cross the Little Bighorn River to attack, they rose and returned fire, driving Custer's cavalry back up a nearby hill. Indian accounts tell of the soldiers falling one after another off their horses as the Indian archers counted coup on their enemy.
Without reinforcements and running low on ammunition, Custer instructed his soldiers to shoot their remaining horses and use them as a barricade to hide behind as they returned fire on the Indian warriors from the vantage of the hilltop. But they faced insurmountable resistance from desperate Indians who completely overwhelmed them in numbers. The bullets finally ran out. About 42 soldiers died at what is now known as Last Stand Hill, including Custer.
In all, Custer's hasty and ill-informed decision-making cost 210 soldiers their lives, every single man under his command. About 60 others died in skirmishes between the Indian warriors and other cavalry units, who could observe the dust and smoke of Custer's battle but do nothing to assist. Around 100 Indian warriors lost their lives in the running battles of that day and the day following.
This was a comprehensive victory for the Indian peoples, but it inspired a vehemently repressive response from the government. It was the last Indian victory of the Indian Wars. Within two years the Indian peoples across the West had either been forced onto the reservations or forced to flee the country to live in Canada. Both Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse died resisting arrest on reservation lands.
The Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument commemorates this battle, with white memorial stones marking the locations soldiers fell, and red memorial stones highlighting the locations particular warriors or groups of warriors died. We walked up the hill from the Visitor Centre to Last Stand Hill and then across the brow of the hill to the Native American warrior monument, which was raised 100 years after the former. The location of markers of the fallen are based on a combination of archaeological research, interviews with warriors and soldiers who survived the battles, and the locations of cedar posts that were placed by soldiers when they hastily buried the bodies of their fallen fellows in the days after the battle.
It is, perhaps, a morbid place to visit. Definitely a though-provoking one. The Ranger talk ended with a comment that stuck with me, and it is perhaps something for us to keep in mind when we are tempted to pick sides in whatever battles we observe going on around us in our own lives:
"Both sides, Indian warrior and American soldier, believed they were 'in the right' as they fought."
All people who fight do so believing their view, their ideal, their side of the argument is 'right'. But the only person who is truly righteous is Jesus Christ, and he said, "my followers do not fight for me, because my kingdom is not of this world".
We had a late lunch / early dinner at Jake's Montana Steakhouse in Billings, which was absolutely delicious, our first real non-take away meal since camp. Unfortunately, it left several of us suffering the runs, which delayed our drive to Yellowstone several times as we stopped for facilities.
In have end, we forsook a picturesque route across the park to our accommodation at West. Yellowstone for the more direct route, which turned out to be a good choice. It was after 10:30 when we arrived and Mr Jackson experienced some sudden and unexpected technical difficulties with the car just after we checked in. We thought we might be without a car for our stay at Yellowstone, which (as you can imagine caused some consternation), but the thought of three consecutive nights in the same bed overcame all our worries for the moment.
---
In the morning I took the kids swimming in the hotel pool (this is definitely one of the nicer places we have stayed so far) while Mr Jackson rang our rental car company to try to sort out an alternative car or some sort of fix. We were eventually directed to take the car to a repair shop. The problem was promptly diagnosed as being caused by the car being put into 4WD unintentionally (yes, I can hear the sniggers from here, folks), a matter easily rectified. We were able to enter Yellowstone National Park, the world's first national park, around midday.
More on our Yellowstone adventures tomorrow I hope as I shall write about our two days together I think.
Providentially, our motel was opposite a laundromat, and I spent the morning hours catching up on three loads of washing while the kids took their time eating waffles for breakfast and watching cable television. Their favourites are Nickelodeon, the Disney Channel and Cartoon Network.
Well, I use 'favourites' loosely; that's all they are allowed to watch.
At breakfast I was interested to observe a family of Amish who had stayed at the same motel. The girls were dressed in very long pinafore skirts and blouses, the boys in trousers, shirts and braces (no belts). They were a large family, travelling back from the Yellowstone to their home in Illinois, and they were travelling in a large van, rather than the traditional black horse-drawn buggy Mr Jackson and I saw in Amish Country in Kansas back in 2010. Their family was larger than ours, however, so they would hardly have fit in one of those small traps, and I imagine horses are not considered au fait on the interstate.
When we finally were repacked and loaded into the car, we crossed yet another state border into our 9th state, Montana. Having visited historical sites related to westward expansion and the army build-up related to tensions between American settlers and American Indians, it seemed appropriate to finish this part of our trip with a stop at Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, also known as the location of "Custer's Last Stand".
Around 1874 the Fort Laramie Treaty was made, promising that the Oregon Trail forts would be abandoned by the army if the Indians would cease hostilities agains settlers. Soon after that, the President of the United States, Ulysses S. Grant, made a further treaty with the Indians to provide food, shelter and other basic necessities for all Indians who made reservation lands their home. However, any Indians who were found off the reservations would be considered hostile by the army.
This situation was further complicated when a government survey unit discovered gold in the Black Hills, in western South Dakota (now the site of Mount Rushmore). The Black Hills had been ceded to the Indians in one of the many treaties, because they were considered sacred by the Lakota. The Lakota Indians refused to hand them over when the American government tried to renegotiate the relevant treaty. But gold-hungry white men poured into the Black Hills, treaty or not, angering the Indians.
Some Indians were happy to settle in the reservations in return for sides of ham and blankets. Others resided in the reservation lands during the winters, when the snow-bound land was harsh and forbidding. Still others, notably Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, refused to enter reservation lands at all, seeing it as forsaking their culture. In the winter of 1875-6, the government failed to keep its promise of food and starving Indians left the reservations in droves.
Grant sent various cavalry units to round up the recalcitrant Indians and force them onto the reservations. Three groups of soldiers were sent from Fort Ellis in Montana, Fort Abraham Lincoln in the Dakotas, and Fort Fetterman in Wyoming. The Wyoming soldiers abandoned plans to meet with the other units after a large battle with Indian warriors in the north of their state rendered them unable to continue further. The other two units met near the Little Bighorn river, in what is now Crow Reservation land.
The Little Bighorn is a meandering river, whose course is marked by trees which provide the only green in a landscape of rolling golden hills and occasional sandstone cliffs. In late June of 1876, it was the location of a large but temporary Indian village comprising Indians gathered from the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes who had deserted the reservations when the promised food didn't arrive. Army intelligence estimated this village to have 700 or 800 Indians, but the real figure was closer to ten times that number.
When the 7th Cavalry units under Custer's command to the west discovered the Indian village in the morning of 25 June 1876, Custer thought that the warriors must be off on a hunting trip, because he could only see elderly people, children and women about the camp. He thought this a prime opportunity to attack the camp and hold the vulnerable Indians hostage until the warriors returned. He sent a message back to the pack train asking them to send the pack on (with its loads of ammunition) because he had found a 'big village'. The reinforcements never arrived, because the eastern cavalry units were facing their own battles with Indian warriors and one unit, under Reno, had already lost around fifty men. But it would have made little difference since Custer had been very mistaken in his assumption. 1500 to 1800 warriors were in fact sleeping late in their teepees, and when Custer tried to cross the Little Bighorn River to attack, they rose and returned fire, driving Custer's cavalry back up a nearby hill. Indian accounts tell of the soldiers falling one after another off their horses as the Indian archers counted coup on their enemy.
Without reinforcements and running low on ammunition, Custer instructed his soldiers to shoot their remaining horses and use them as a barricade to hide behind as they returned fire on the Indian warriors from the vantage of the hilltop. But they faced insurmountable resistance from desperate Indians who completely overwhelmed them in numbers. The bullets finally ran out. About 42 soldiers died at what is now known as Last Stand Hill, including Custer.
In all, Custer's hasty and ill-informed decision-making cost 210 soldiers their lives, every single man under his command. About 60 others died in skirmishes between the Indian warriors and other cavalry units, who could observe the dust and smoke of Custer's battle but do nothing to assist. Around 100 Indian warriors lost their lives in the running battles of that day and the day following.
This was a comprehensive victory for the Indian peoples, but it inspired a vehemently repressive response from the government. It was the last Indian victory of the Indian Wars. Within two years the Indian peoples across the West had either been forced onto the reservations or forced to flee the country to live in Canada. Both Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse died resisting arrest on reservation lands.
The Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument commemorates this battle, with white memorial stones marking the locations soldiers fell, and red memorial stones highlighting the locations particular warriors or groups of warriors died. We walked up the hill from the Visitor Centre to Last Stand Hill and then across the brow of the hill to the Native American warrior monument, which was raised 100 years after the former. The location of markers of the fallen are based on a combination of archaeological research, interviews with warriors and soldiers who survived the battles, and the locations of cedar posts that were placed by soldiers when they hastily buried the bodies of their fallen fellows in the days after the battle.
It is, perhaps, a morbid place to visit. Definitely a though-provoking one. The Ranger talk ended with a comment that stuck with me, and it is perhaps something for us to keep in mind when we are tempted to pick sides in whatever battles we observe going on around us in our own lives:
"Both sides, Indian warrior and American soldier, believed they were 'in the right' as they fought."
All people who fight do so believing their view, their ideal, their side of the argument is 'right'. But the only person who is truly righteous is Jesus Christ, and he said, "my followers do not fight for me, because my kingdom is not of this world".
We had a late lunch / early dinner at Jake's Montana Steakhouse in Billings, which was absolutely delicious, our first real non-take away meal since camp. Unfortunately, it left several of us suffering the runs, which delayed our drive to Yellowstone several times as we stopped for facilities.
In have end, we forsook a picturesque route across the park to our accommodation at West. Yellowstone for the more direct route, which turned out to be a good choice. It was after 10:30 when we arrived and Mr Jackson experienced some sudden and unexpected technical difficulties with the car just after we checked in. We thought we might be without a car for our stay at Yellowstone, which (as you can imagine caused some consternation), but the thought of three consecutive nights in the same bed overcame all our worries for the moment.
---
In the morning I took the kids swimming in the hotel pool (this is definitely one of the nicer places we have stayed so far) while Mr Jackson rang our rental car company to try to sort out an alternative car or some sort of fix. We were eventually directed to take the car to a repair shop. The problem was promptly diagnosed as being caused by the car being put into 4WD unintentionally (yes, I can hear the sniggers from here, folks), a matter easily rectified. We were able to enter Yellowstone National Park, the world's first national park, around midday.
More on our Yellowstone adventures tomorrow I hope as I shall write about our two days together I think.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Scotts Bluff, Nebraska and Fort Laramie and Oregon Trail, Wyoming
Tuesday 5 August
Another slow start which we are ruing once more as we drive through the darkness of evening and storms. But we did make good use of the daylight hours today, visiting three sites on the Oregon Trail, the route which pioneer settlers, aka emigrants, travelled as the American nation expanded west.
Our first site was Scotts Bluff National Monument, in Nebraska, the goal for which we had driven so far south late last night. Scotts Bluff and the neighbouring Mitchell Pass were important landmarks on the settlers' westward routes. There were three main Trails from the more populous eastern states to the west. All three trails passed this point as the settlers followed the course of the Platte River; its northern branch the North Platte River flows just north of Scotts Bluff and Mitchell Pass.
The first trail was used in the early 1800s, after a fur trapping party plotted the route by travelling from Astoria, at the mouth of the great Columbus River in Oregon, to St Louis, Illinois, in 1810 (or possibly 1814, I can't quite remember). It was called the Oregon Trail. Beginning in Independence, Missouri (just east of the border with Kansas), this route took the settlers to the north-western corner of the United States, right to the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Many of these settlers travelled with 'prairie schooners', (ships of the grassland plains), also known as covered wagons. Each wagon was towed by several oxen, yoked in pairs. The cattle had a very hard time of it, and heavier items were discarded along the way as the settlers fought to enable their oxen to continue on. One settler wrote of finding discarded books beside the road, which he read before swapping them at the next pile of cast aside books he found, the 'longest library' in the world. Settlers generally walked beside their covered wagons to save the oxen's strength. Many oxen died along the way of sheer exhaustion; meanwhile, the settlers themselves frequently died of cholera, which plagued the wagon trains in the plains.
The second route was the Mormon Trail, along which Brigham Young led the first wave of Mormons (now known as the Latter-day Saints) from Nauvoo, Illinois, to their final stop in Salt Lake City, Utah. The Mormons made attempts to settle at various locations along their Trail, including Independence (which their prophet Joseph Smith proclaimed to be the site of the future Zion). They constantly found themselves 'run out of town' when the established, Christian settlers found out about the Mormons' polygamous practices and heretical doctrines. Many of the Mormons travelled with only 'prairie carts', which were somewhat like hand-towed wheelbarrows, because they had run out of the money needed to purchase prairie schooners as they fled persecution almost everywhere they went.
The third trail was the California Trail, which followed the Oregon Trail until somewhere in Wyoming, where it branched south to the goldfields. This trail was the purview of the '49ers, whose lust for gold was sparked with news of a gold strike in the California hills in 1848. (We'll have more to learn of the '49ers when we visit Death Valley National Park in California near the end of our trip.) All of a sudden, Oregon's fertile fields were no longer the draw they once had been. Westward expansion had moved south.
Scotts Bluff is a magnificent sandstone outcrop which juts upwards from the plain. It is named after a fur trapper, Hiram Scott, who was deserted here to die by his fellow trappers after being injured and rendered unable to ride a horse. We learnt of the history of the location at the Visitors' Centre, and Sam, Abi and Anna completed Junior Ranger booklets to earn another badge each. Then we drove the winding road to the top, scaring me out of my wits. At the top of the Bluff, we walked a trail that encircled the flat mesa-like top. Samuel clung to my hand and we distracted each other from the prospect of the steep drop off by counting the spiky cactus we saw at the side of the path. Scotts Bluff was also the first place we saw the spiky yucca plants. The road down was yet more frightening; as this time, we were in the cliff-side lane, and I was on the cliff side of the car (left-side driving is officially a nightmare!). I found myself leaning over to Mr Jackson's elbow in a subconscious effort not to tumble over the precipice, even as I stuck my hand out the open window with the camera to take photos of the stirring view.
We left Scotts Bluff National Monument by driving through Mitchell Pass to the west, and continued west across the state border into Wyoming (our 8th state) for our next stop at Fort Laramie. This Fort was first built in 1834 as Fort William, then rebuilt as Fort John in 1841, and finally purchased by the army and rebuilt once more as Fort Laramie in 1849. It provided a trade store where settlers could replenish their stores and fur trappers could trade their buffalo and beaver furs. Once the army moved in, it housed soldiers whose main occupation was upkeep of the fort, although they were ostensibly in the area to help maintain peace with the local Indians, who were increasingly unsatisfied with the peace treaties they had been forced into accepting, and which had been continually broken by the American settlers who persisted in settling on Indian treaty lands. The fort was never attacked by Indians, and it never had to protect itself with walls, either, being open on all sides to the prairie lands.
I took Anna, Sam and Abi around the fort to complete their Junior Ranger booklets, whereupon they received their third badge and were officially sworn in as Junior Rangers and received their cloth "Explore. Learn. Protect." badges. This is the pledge they swore with the Ranger:
"I promise to discover all I can
about my National and State Parks
and to share my discoveries with others.
I pledge to preserve and protect
my National and State Parks
for the enjoyment of future generations."
I guess it applies to our national and state parks in Western Australia as well.
Meanwhile, Mr Jackson explored with Joshua, starting at the soldier's bar talking to a retired soldier about local military history records. He told them the story of one soldier from the fort who had been shot in the arm and leg during the Civil War, and bayonetted, losing one ear, in the same war. Then, when he was posted out to Fort Laramie, he was shot in the same arm by an Indian arrow and was told he couldn't shoot with that arm any more so would have to be discharged from the army. Consequently, he taught himself to shoot with his left arm, retained his position in the army, and later died of old age after retiring from the army and becoming a farmer in the local area. Joshua commented, "Imagine! That much devotion to your country!"
We left Fort Laramie with brooding storm clouds on the horizon, and drove into a lightning and thunder storm. A ranger at the fort had told us about some amazingly deep wheel ruts preserved in stone nearby from the metal rims of the prairie schooner wheels as they cut deep into the soft sandstone they traversed on the Oregon Trail. We drove to them but had to wait a while in the car before we could emerge, while the heavy rainstorm became a hail storm. Suddenly the sun emerged from clouds and we hiked a little way to see two separate sets of wheel ruts, much more impressive than those we saw near the Snake River in north east Oregon four years ago. (Oh, how I wish we could post photos on this blog but it's just not happening at the moment. Sorry.)
That was the last of our tourist stops for the day. It was 5:30pm and we still had around four hour's drive to Sheridan on the I-25 where we stayed the night. Most of the four hours were spent enjoying the sky show that God was putting on. There were some magnificent lightning strikes, and at one time sheet lightning was surrounding us. I have never seen sheet lightning up close before, only on the horizon, and it was amazing to have the whole countryside around us lit up "like daylight" as Anna commented. Once again the kids fell asleep in the car and had to be transferred to beds when we arrived at the motel. They seem to be getting used to it now.
Another slow start which we are ruing once more as we drive through the darkness of evening and storms. But we did make good use of the daylight hours today, visiting three sites on the Oregon Trail, the route which pioneer settlers, aka emigrants, travelled as the American nation expanded west.
Our first site was Scotts Bluff National Monument, in Nebraska, the goal for which we had driven so far south late last night. Scotts Bluff and the neighbouring Mitchell Pass were important landmarks on the settlers' westward routes. There were three main Trails from the more populous eastern states to the west. All three trails passed this point as the settlers followed the course of the Platte River; its northern branch the North Platte River flows just north of Scotts Bluff and Mitchell Pass.
The first trail was used in the early 1800s, after a fur trapping party plotted the route by travelling from Astoria, at the mouth of the great Columbus River in Oregon, to St Louis, Illinois, in 1810 (or possibly 1814, I can't quite remember). It was called the Oregon Trail. Beginning in Independence, Missouri (just east of the border with Kansas), this route took the settlers to the north-western corner of the United States, right to the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Many of these settlers travelled with 'prairie schooners', (ships of the grassland plains), also known as covered wagons. Each wagon was towed by several oxen, yoked in pairs. The cattle had a very hard time of it, and heavier items were discarded along the way as the settlers fought to enable their oxen to continue on. One settler wrote of finding discarded books beside the road, which he read before swapping them at the next pile of cast aside books he found, the 'longest library' in the world. Settlers generally walked beside their covered wagons to save the oxen's strength. Many oxen died along the way of sheer exhaustion; meanwhile, the settlers themselves frequently died of cholera, which plagued the wagon trains in the plains.
The second route was the Mormon Trail, along which Brigham Young led the first wave of Mormons (now known as the Latter-day Saints) from Nauvoo, Illinois, to their final stop in Salt Lake City, Utah. The Mormons made attempts to settle at various locations along their Trail, including Independence (which their prophet Joseph Smith proclaimed to be the site of the future Zion). They constantly found themselves 'run out of town' when the established, Christian settlers found out about the Mormons' polygamous practices and heretical doctrines. Many of the Mormons travelled with only 'prairie carts', which were somewhat like hand-towed wheelbarrows, because they had run out of the money needed to purchase prairie schooners as they fled persecution almost everywhere they went.
The third trail was the California Trail, which followed the Oregon Trail until somewhere in Wyoming, where it branched south to the goldfields. This trail was the purview of the '49ers, whose lust for gold was sparked with news of a gold strike in the California hills in 1848. (We'll have more to learn of the '49ers when we visit Death Valley National Park in California near the end of our trip.) All of a sudden, Oregon's fertile fields were no longer the draw they once had been. Westward expansion had moved south.
Scotts Bluff is a magnificent sandstone outcrop which juts upwards from the plain. It is named after a fur trapper, Hiram Scott, who was deserted here to die by his fellow trappers after being injured and rendered unable to ride a horse. We learnt of the history of the location at the Visitors' Centre, and Sam, Abi and Anna completed Junior Ranger booklets to earn another badge each. Then we drove the winding road to the top, scaring me out of my wits. At the top of the Bluff, we walked a trail that encircled the flat mesa-like top. Samuel clung to my hand and we distracted each other from the prospect of the steep drop off by counting the spiky cactus we saw at the side of the path. Scotts Bluff was also the first place we saw the spiky yucca plants. The road down was yet more frightening; as this time, we were in the cliff-side lane, and I was on the cliff side of the car (left-side driving is officially a nightmare!). I found myself leaning over to Mr Jackson's elbow in a subconscious effort not to tumble over the precipice, even as I stuck my hand out the open window with the camera to take photos of the stirring view.
We left Scotts Bluff National Monument by driving through Mitchell Pass to the west, and continued west across the state border into Wyoming (our 8th state) for our next stop at Fort Laramie. This Fort was first built in 1834 as Fort William, then rebuilt as Fort John in 1841, and finally purchased by the army and rebuilt once more as Fort Laramie in 1849. It provided a trade store where settlers could replenish their stores and fur trappers could trade their buffalo and beaver furs. Once the army moved in, it housed soldiers whose main occupation was upkeep of the fort, although they were ostensibly in the area to help maintain peace with the local Indians, who were increasingly unsatisfied with the peace treaties they had been forced into accepting, and which had been continually broken by the American settlers who persisted in settling on Indian treaty lands. The fort was never attacked by Indians, and it never had to protect itself with walls, either, being open on all sides to the prairie lands.
I took Anna, Sam and Abi around the fort to complete their Junior Ranger booklets, whereupon they received their third badge and were officially sworn in as Junior Rangers and received their cloth "Explore. Learn. Protect." badges. This is the pledge they swore with the Ranger:
"I promise to discover all I can
about my National and State Parks
and to share my discoveries with others.
I pledge to preserve and protect
my National and State Parks
for the enjoyment of future generations."
I guess it applies to our national and state parks in Western Australia as well.
Meanwhile, Mr Jackson explored with Joshua, starting at the soldier's bar talking to a retired soldier about local military history records. He told them the story of one soldier from the fort who had been shot in the arm and leg during the Civil War, and bayonetted, losing one ear, in the same war. Then, when he was posted out to Fort Laramie, he was shot in the same arm by an Indian arrow and was told he couldn't shoot with that arm any more so would have to be discharged from the army. Consequently, he taught himself to shoot with his left arm, retained his position in the army, and later died of old age after retiring from the army and becoming a farmer in the local area. Joshua commented, "Imagine! That much devotion to your country!"
We left Fort Laramie with brooding storm clouds on the horizon, and drove into a lightning and thunder storm. A ranger at the fort had told us about some amazingly deep wheel ruts preserved in stone nearby from the metal rims of the prairie schooner wheels as they cut deep into the soft sandstone they traversed on the Oregon Trail. We drove to them but had to wait a while in the car before we could emerge, while the heavy rainstorm became a hail storm. Suddenly the sun emerged from clouds and we hiked a little way to see two separate sets of wheel ruts, much more impressive than those we saw near the Snake River in north east Oregon four years ago. (Oh, how I wish we could post photos on this blog but it's just not happening at the moment. Sorry.)
That was the last of our tourist stops for the day. It was 5:30pm and we still had around four hour's drive to Sheridan on the I-25 where we stayed the night. Most of the four hours were spent enjoying the sky show that God was putting on. There were some magnificent lightning strikes, and at one time sheet lightning was surrounding us. I have never seen sheet lightning up close before, only on the horizon, and it was amazing to have the whole countryside around us lit up "like daylight" as Anna commented. Once again the kids fell asleep in the car and had to be transferred to beds when we arrived at the motel. They seem to be getting used to it now.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Badlands and Mount Rushmore, South Dakota
Monday 4 August
It was a slow start this morning, but only half an hour down the road, we pulled over to take a family photo by the entrance to our first National Park, the Badlands. Minutes later, after lining up surrounded by motorcycles, we purchased our 'America the Beautiful' Annual Pass to the National Parks of the USA. Of course, we won't be here for anything like a year, but this pass grants us unrestricted entry to all the parks we will be visiting over the next fortnight. (Interesting side note: here in the US, people don't use the phrase 'fortnight', it's always just two weeks.)
The Badlands are so named because this is the translation of the Lakota Indian and French Trapper names for this area. The homesteaders didn't think they were so fantastic either, since they had to traverse the rugged wall of eroded hills that separates the Lower Prairie from the Upper Prairie in wagons pulled by horses or oxen. Not an easy task. Nowadays, the Loop Road is bitumen and takes advantage of every one of the so-called 'passes' that the homesteaders discovered.
We spent the later half of the morning and early afternoon following the Loop Road and Sage Creek Rim Road (the latter being a gravel road) through the Badlands. We stopped at several overlooks and the Visitor Centre, where we browsed the museum and shop, and collected our first Junior Ranger booklets. Unfortunately, since we left the park via the Sage Creek Rim Road rather than either of the main entrances, the kids weren't able to collect their badges, but they had a lot of fun playing Badlands Bingo. We also stopped at the Fossil Exhibit Trail, which I walked with Sam and Abi while the older kids listened to a ranger-led talk on the local fossils.
Inspired by the Badlands Bingo Junior Ranger activity, we kept our eyes peeled. We saw prairie grass and wild flowers in the grassland areas. The flowers included wild sunflowers, to our surprise. In the eroded areas, we saw sandstone and silt-rock, cracked mud flats and dry creek beds, pinnacles and gulches.
It was the wildlife that truly captured our imagination, however. At first, we only saw a small kinkajou (I only use that word for the sake of my brother Daryl; for those not already in the know, 'kinkajou' means 'small furry animal with a tail') which might have been a grey squirrel or a gopher. Whatever it was, it was camouflaged nicely against the grey silt-rock of the Badlands. Then, we began to notice the birds, also camouflaged marvellously, only visible when they darted and hopped from place to place.
Then, when following a group of five or more bikes, we were suddenly pulled up by the sight of them all slowing to a sudden stop. What had caught their attention? It was a bighorn sheep, grazing peacefully in the prairie grass by the side of the road, ignoring the fuss it was causing. Crossing the road, we saw another bighorn sheep, whose coat was visibly shedding in the South Dakota summer heat, down in a valley. Abi and Sam were just as excited as the bikers.
It was on Sage Creek Rim Road that we saw our most hoped-for sight. Once again, it was drivers stopped ahead at the side of the road who drew our attention to the wildlife in view. This time, we all piled out of the car in a scurrying hurry, because we had glimpsed - with bated breath - our first bison! The bison was far off in the distance, which is just as well, because they are able to gallop at 30mi (45km) per hour, which is well and truly faster than I can run! We clambered out onto the grey silt-rock plateau and gaped down at the Lower Prairie below, where the bison was grazing heedless of spectators above. Though in the distance, its immediately recognisable humped shoulder bison shape was clearly visible as it turned side-on to us.
Eventually, of course, we had to return to the car and continue on. Just a little further was the 'Roberts Prairie Dog Town', and we were once again excited to witness the wildlife. This time it wasn't just one or two, however. Little Prairie Dogs were propped up on their back legs all over the place, popping up from their burrows and back down again if we walked too close. Again, Sam and Abi joined me as we stalked one of them in an attempt to obtain a close-up photo. We clearly heard his 'pip pip' call as we approached nearer, and heeded his warning that this close was close enough.
Sage Creek was a strange sight in the bottom of the valley just before we left the park. Its waters were white with silt, collected as it meandered through the Badlands. I can well understand how the Badlands earned their name, but for us, they were a magnificent and marvellous introduction to the National Parks of 'America the Beautiful'.
Next, we drove on to Mount Rushmore National Monument. This was a completely different experience: an edifice carved not by water and wind, but by jackhammers and dynamite; carved not according to the Master Creator's intent, but by the hand of over 400 sculptors at the direction of a master-sculptor named Gustav Borglum.
The tourist town of Keystone is barely a few miles from the granite mountain, in the Black Hills. Here, motorbikes swarmed both sides of the streets, which were lined with billboards announcing one tourist attraction after another on Wild West style shop facades. A biker at the Mount Rushmore car park told me there might be as many as 40 or 50 thousand bikers in the area for the Sturgis Rally, and that that many could not possibly stay in Sturgis itself. Thus the bikers have booked out all the nearby accommodation. When we checked in at our motel last night, we overheard the manager tell someone they had no more vacancies, and it is clear that the same is true tonight, in Keystone at least.
One turn up the road showed us the Mount Rushmore National Monument sign, where we once again took a family photo. This time I managed to use the timer on my camera, with a deal of success, for the first time. It was raining gently as we piled back in the car for the last little drive. Once at the monument, we walked under the great granite entrance way, and up the Avenue of the Flags (with flags for each state on either side) to the viewing amphitheatre. Then we traipsed around the viewing path, up and down, (mostly down, thankfully) many stairs to view the four faces of Presidents George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln a little bit closer.
The Sculptor's Studio had an exhibit of a 3m (10ft) tall practice sculpture of the presidents, as busts that include a few hands as well as the presidents' arms, jackets and coats down almost to the elbow. Only one was a head, sandwiched between the others. The mountain carving was never intended to include this much, but shoulders were planned, and had to be left undone for some reason or other that I can't remember at this moment. There was also a 2m tall plaster cast of Abraham Lincoln's face, which the sculptors on the face of the mountain had access to as they decided just where to place their jackhammers.
Anna, Abigail and Samuel completed their Junior Ranger activities for Mount Rushmore while Mr Jackson and Joshua bought us some buffalo stew, a buffalo burger, and two buffalo hot dogs for dinner from the monument cafe. For dessert, we bought ice-cream cups, and I tried some vanilla ice-cream which had been made to Thomas Jefferson's original recipe. Who knew TJ could find time for inventing ice-cream recipes in the middle of brokering the Declaration of Independence? Not me, that's for sure. Then on the way out, we turned the kids' booklets in to be signed by the duty ranger. They had earned their first Junior Ranger Badge!
As I type this, Mr Jackson is driving us to our next motel, in Scotts Bluff, Nebraska. Since leaving Mount Rushmore the rain has increased and we had a bit of lightning to keep our attention for a while. Now it has settled to a light drizzle. We have just crossed yet another state line, into Nebraska, our seventh state, at 9pm at night, and still have over an hour's drive, perhaps two, to go. The kids are listening to The Lord of the Rings on audiobook, or sleeping in their seats. I can see the lights of Chadron on the horizon and am wishing we had booked in there instead of Scotts Bluff, but I didn't realise we would spend so long enjoying the Badlands. And I would rather put up with traveling at night than miss out on those stunning sights.
It was a slow start this morning, but only half an hour down the road, we pulled over to take a family photo by the entrance to our first National Park, the Badlands. Minutes later, after lining up surrounded by motorcycles, we purchased our 'America the Beautiful' Annual Pass to the National Parks of the USA. Of course, we won't be here for anything like a year, but this pass grants us unrestricted entry to all the parks we will be visiting over the next fortnight. (Interesting side note: here in the US, people don't use the phrase 'fortnight', it's always just two weeks.)
The Badlands are so named because this is the translation of the Lakota Indian and French Trapper names for this area. The homesteaders didn't think they were so fantastic either, since they had to traverse the rugged wall of eroded hills that separates the Lower Prairie from the Upper Prairie in wagons pulled by horses or oxen. Not an easy task. Nowadays, the Loop Road is bitumen and takes advantage of every one of the so-called 'passes' that the homesteaders discovered.
We spent the later half of the morning and early afternoon following the Loop Road and Sage Creek Rim Road (the latter being a gravel road) through the Badlands. We stopped at several overlooks and the Visitor Centre, where we browsed the museum and shop, and collected our first Junior Ranger booklets. Unfortunately, since we left the park via the Sage Creek Rim Road rather than either of the main entrances, the kids weren't able to collect their badges, but they had a lot of fun playing Badlands Bingo. We also stopped at the Fossil Exhibit Trail, which I walked with Sam and Abi while the older kids listened to a ranger-led talk on the local fossils.
Inspired by the Badlands Bingo Junior Ranger activity, we kept our eyes peeled. We saw prairie grass and wild flowers in the grassland areas. The flowers included wild sunflowers, to our surprise. In the eroded areas, we saw sandstone and silt-rock, cracked mud flats and dry creek beds, pinnacles and gulches.
It was the wildlife that truly captured our imagination, however. At first, we only saw a small kinkajou (I only use that word for the sake of my brother Daryl; for those not already in the know, 'kinkajou' means 'small furry animal with a tail') which might have been a grey squirrel or a gopher. Whatever it was, it was camouflaged nicely against the grey silt-rock of the Badlands. Then, we began to notice the birds, also camouflaged marvellously, only visible when they darted and hopped from place to place.
Then, when following a group of five or more bikes, we were suddenly pulled up by the sight of them all slowing to a sudden stop. What had caught their attention? It was a bighorn sheep, grazing peacefully in the prairie grass by the side of the road, ignoring the fuss it was causing. Crossing the road, we saw another bighorn sheep, whose coat was visibly shedding in the South Dakota summer heat, down in a valley. Abi and Sam were just as excited as the bikers.
It was on Sage Creek Rim Road that we saw our most hoped-for sight. Once again, it was drivers stopped ahead at the side of the road who drew our attention to the wildlife in view. This time, we all piled out of the car in a scurrying hurry, because we had glimpsed - with bated breath - our first bison! The bison was far off in the distance, which is just as well, because they are able to gallop at 30mi (45km) per hour, which is well and truly faster than I can run! We clambered out onto the grey silt-rock plateau and gaped down at the Lower Prairie below, where the bison was grazing heedless of spectators above. Though in the distance, its immediately recognisable humped shoulder bison shape was clearly visible as it turned side-on to us.
Eventually, of course, we had to return to the car and continue on. Just a little further was the 'Roberts Prairie Dog Town', and we were once again excited to witness the wildlife. This time it wasn't just one or two, however. Little Prairie Dogs were propped up on their back legs all over the place, popping up from their burrows and back down again if we walked too close. Again, Sam and Abi joined me as we stalked one of them in an attempt to obtain a close-up photo. We clearly heard his 'pip pip' call as we approached nearer, and heeded his warning that this close was close enough.
Sage Creek was a strange sight in the bottom of the valley just before we left the park. Its waters were white with silt, collected as it meandered through the Badlands. I can well understand how the Badlands earned their name, but for us, they were a magnificent and marvellous introduction to the National Parks of 'America the Beautiful'.
Next, we drove on to Mount Rushmore National Monument. This was a completely different experience: an edifice carved not by water and wind, but by jackhammers and dynamite; carved not according to the Master Creator's intent, but by the hand of over 400 sculptors at the direction of a master-sculptor named Gustav Borglum.
The tourist town of Keystone is barely a few miles from the granite mountain, in the Black Hills. Here, motorbikes swarmed both sides of the streets, which were lined with billboards announcing one tourist attraction after another on Wild West style shop facades. A biker at the Mount Rushmore car park told me there might be as many as 40 or 50 thousand bikers in the area for the Sturgis Rally, and that that many could not possibly stay in Sturgis itself. Thus the bikers have booked out all the nearby accommodation. When we checked in at our motel last night, we overheard the manager tell someone they had no more vacancies, and it is clear that the same is true tonight, in Keystone at least.
One turn up the road showed us the Mount Rushmore National Monument sign, where we once again took a family photo. This time I managed to use the timer on my camera, with a deal of success, for the first time. It was raining gently as we piled back in the car for the last little drive. Once at the monument, we walked under the great granite entrance way, and up the Avenue of the Flags (with flags for each state on either side) to the viewing amphitheatre. Then we traipsed around the viewing path, up and down, (mostly down, thankfully) many stairs to view the four faces of Presidents George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln a little bit closer.
The Sculptor's Studio had an exhibit of a 3m (10ft) tall practice sculpture of the presidents, as busts that include a few hands as well as the presidents' arms, jackets and coats down almost to the elbow. Only one was a head, sandwiched between the others. The mountain carving was never intended to include this much, but shoulders were planned, and had to be left undone for some reason or other that I can't remember at this moment. There was also a 2m tall plaster cast of Abraham Lincoln's face, which the sculptors on the face of the mountain had access to as they decided just where to place their jackhammers.
Anna, Abigail and Samuel completed their Junior Ranger activities for Mount Rushmore while Mr Jackson and Joshua bought us some buffalo stew, a buffalo burger, and two buffalo hot dogs for dinner from the monument cafe. For dessert, we bought ice-cream cups, and I tried some vanilla ice-cream which had been made to Thomas Jefferson's original recipe. Who knew TJ could find time for inventing ice-cream recipes in the middle of brokering the Declaration of Independence? Not me, that's for sure. Then on the way out, we turned the kids' booklets in to be signed by the duty ranger. They had earned their first Junior Ranger Badge!
As I type this, Mr Jackson is driving us to our next motel, in Scotts Bluff, Nebraska. Since leaving Mount Rushmore the rain has increased and we had a bit of lightning to keep our attention for a while. Now it has settled to a light drizzle. We have just crossed yet another state line, into Nebraska, our seventh state, at 9pm at night, and still have over an hour's drive, perhaps two, to go. The kids are listening to The Lord of the Rings on audiobook, or sleeping in their seats. I can see the lights of Chadron on the horizon and am wishing we had booked in there instead of Scotts Bluff, but I didn't realise we would spend so long enjoying the Badlands. And I would rather put up with traveling at night than miss out on those stunning sights.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Minneapolis, Minnesota to Kadoka, South Dakota
Sunday 3 August
Breakfast was our last meal with the Edwards and Carr families. Mr Jackson had 'biscuits and gravy' (scones and carbonara sauce with bits of sausage in it instead of bacon), a traditional southern breakfast food. Every time we've had the option of cooked breakfast, some sort of potatoes has been offered. We don't think of potatoes as a breakfast food in Australia but here they definitely do.
After waving a sad goodbye, thankful we had had so much time together with the Edwards, we packed the last of our gear and set off on the I-35 south out of Minneapolis. Soon we were driving on the wide open spaces of Minnesota state highway 169, which follows the course of the Minnesota River. We are starting to see road kill of a very American variety. So far we've seen lots of dead racoons, squirrels, at least one skunk, a goose, and a fox (thought of Graham Lawrence with the last) and perhaps a gopher. Mr Jackson saw a dead deer yesterday, but we mostly saw live ones in Iowa, thankfully.
The countryside west of Chicago has been mainly farmland, with horizon to horizon being filled with corn fields and soyabeans, but now we are into South Dakota (as I type this), we are starting to see the occasional hay field dotted with hay bale rolls, and cattle paddocks as well. The cattle here seem to have a mighty fine life, I must say. The land is littered with creeks and rivers, ponds and lakes; their water a deep lush green that reflects the deep green of the cornfields.
Earlier this morning on the MN-169 we drove past the "World's Biggest Candy and Pop Store" and of course had to make a quick addition to our planned stops for our day. 'Candy' is the American word for lollies, and 'pop', also known as 'soda', is soft drink. This store was amazing! They had a huge variety of every sugary confection known to man. Most of the soft drink was boutique brands such as the Zombie Brain Juice that Sam and Joshua chose, and the Fudge Cookie Dough flavour I picked. Jeff bought bacon flavour! But we did see one familiar drink: Bundaberg Ginger Beer. There were about ten different colours of pop corn, with the kernels naturally coloured red, blue, black and even purple. The flavours of liquorice provided more astounding variety, including root beer, watermelon and huckleberry flavours.
It might surprise some, but we didn't buy too much candy from the store. We did decide to buy one packet of "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans" (licensed to Jelly Belly Beans from WB Harry Potter). They included such flavours as earthworm, dirt, grass, black pepper, sausage, booger, vomit, earwax and soap, as well as the more traditional blueberry, cinnamon, candyfloss (fairy floss), banana and lemon. We tried the less traditional flavours first, but even Joshua couldn't stomach the vomit flavour bean he gamely tried and had to spit it out the window. I found soap surprisingly pleasant. Mr Jackson described the sausage flavoured bean as, "not particularly nice", but dirt was "palatable". We cleansed our palates with the fruity flavours.
On the road again we left the state highway for some back roads as we made our way to the McCone Sod House, north of Jackson County near the Cottonwood River. This part of the USA, known as the Great Plains, is fairly flat land, which was mostly Prairie Tallgrass Plains when the first white settlers arrived. When they did, they found that there were no rocks to provide stone for bricks, nor trees to provide lumber for planks. The only trees we are seeing as we drive - and they are few and far between - have been planted since the settlers arrived in the Great Plains. So they were faced with a difficulty: what would they build their homes with? They answered the question by cutting 2ft x 1ft (60cm x 30cm) slices of sodden earth from the prairie, which they laid two deep to form very thick earthen walls. Thus the 'soddy', or 'sod house' was born.
This style of house was made famous in the semi-autobiographical book 'Little House on the Prairie' by Laura Ingalls Wilder, who also wrote 'Little House in the Big Woods' about her family's time in Wisconsin. Apparently, at one time there were as many as a million sod houses across the Great Plains, as homesteaders sought to provide shelter for their families for the five years required to claim the surrounding land as their own.
The McCone Sod House is a reproduction, built in the 1980s, but it is authentic in construction, having been built with sod cut using a traditional sod cutter. This is a type of sled, that was towed by horses using the weight of the farmer to push its blades 10cm into the ground, before the cross cuts were made with sod cutting knives to release a rectangular prism of sod from the ground. The prairie soil was so wet that the walls would lose 18in (45cm) from their height as the walls dried out. Inside, the one-room house would typically have space for the husband and wife's bed on the floor and a loft bedroom accessed by a ladder for any children. There would also be an enclosed fire stove, but it would have to burn twists of dry grass or 'cow wood' (aka 'cow chips', ie dried cow dung) in the absence of wood.
Abi and Anna both enjoyed dressing up in prairie dresses and bonnets, and having a go at writing on a slate board, as children of Ingalls Wilder's generation must have done. Sam was delighted to hide in the long green grass of a paddock while the rest of the family watched a History Channel report about the McCone Sod House, and then to frighten us out of our wits by popping up from the grass when we left the TV room. Josh ran around the prairie walk through the restored tallgrass, which was filled with wildflowers. Last time we came to America my attempt to visit a tallgrass prairie area was foiled by the spring burn off that had just happened, so I was very appreciative of this opportunity to see such a classic American landscape, since little of it remains today, being mostly replaced by the pervasive cornfields.
Samuel discovered what he described as "the most delicious water in America" at the McCone Sod House, from a pump near the McCone family's shed. It was 'well water', cool and fresh, and we were generously allowed to refill all our water bottles and quench our thirst before heading back to the car and onto the I-90.
We've crossed into South Dakota now, and are seeing more and more motorbikes, as people drive to the annual Black Hills Sturgis Motorbike Rally, which starts in a few days and goes for a week. Many of the bikes have tiny trailers on the back or are lumbered with huge piles of camping gear. At a rest stop, I chatted to a rider who had driven from Georgia, on the eastern coast of the USA, since this morning, an amazing distance of 1100 miles (almost 1800km). We were just overtaken by a couple on a giant hog bike, the lady passenger busy texting as her bloke focussed his attention on the road ahead. Not the first, and won't be the last, Mr Jackson reckons.
It is now 7:30pm, but the sun is well up in the sky as we travel west, set to cross into the Mountain Time Zone and go back an hour just before we stop for the night. There is still another two or three hours of sunlight to go, this far north. We are about to have Dairy Queen for dinner on the banks of the Missouri River, one of the greatest of the Mississippi's tributaries. Then we have several hours more driving to Kadoka for the night. Tomorrow, we visit the first of our long list of National Parks, Badlands National Park.
Breakfast was our last meal with the Edwards and Carr families. Mr Jackson had 'biscuits and gravy' (scones and carbonara sauce with bits of sausage in it instead of bacon), a traditional southern breakfast food. Every time we've had the option of cooked breakfast, some sort of potatoes has been offered. We don't think of potatoes as a breakfast food in Australia but here they definitely do.
After waving a sad goodbye, thankful we had had so much time together with the Edwards, we packed the last of our gear and set off on the I-35 south out of Minneapolis. Soon we were driving on the wide open spaces of Minnesota state highway 169, which follows the course of the Minnesota River. We are starting to see road kill of a very American variety. So far we've seen lots of dead racoons, squirrels, at least one skunk, a goose, and a fox (thought of Graham Lawrence with the last) and perhaps a gopher. Mr Jackson saw a dead deer yesterday, but we mostly saw live ones in Iowa, thankfully.
The countryside west of Chicago has been mainly farmland, with horizon to horizon being filled with corn fields and soyabeans, but now we are into South Dakota (as I type this), we are starting to see the occasional hay field dotted with hay bale rolls, and cattle paddocks as well. The cattle here seem to have a mighty fine life, I must say. The land is littered with creeks and rivers, ponds and lakes; their water a deep lush green that reflects the deep green of the cornfields.
Earlier this morning on the MN-169 we drove past the "World's Biggest Candy and Pop Store" and of course had to make a quick addition to our planned stops for our day. 'Candy' is the American word for lollies, and 'pop', also known as 'soda', is soft drink. This store was amazing! They had a huge variety of every sugary confection known to man. Most of the soft drink was boutique brands such as the Zombie Brain Juice that Sam and Joshua chose, and the Fudge Cookie Dough flavour I picked. Jeff bought bacon flavour! But we did see one familiar drink: Bundaberg Ginger Beer. There were about ten different colours of pop corn, with the kernels naturally coloured red, blue, black and even purple. The flavours of liquorice provided more astounding variety, including root beer, watermelon and huckleberry flavours.
It might surprise some, but we didn't buy too much candy from the store. We did decide to buy one packet of "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans" (licensed to Jelly Belly Beans from WB Harry Potter). They included such flavours as earthworm, dirt, grass, black pepper, sausage, booger, vomit, earwax and soap, as well as the more traditional blueberry, cinnamon, candyfloss (fairy floss), banana and lemon. We tried the less traditional flavours first, but even Joshua couldn't stomach the vomit flavour bean he gamely tried and had to spit it out the window. I found soap surprisingly pleasant. Mr Jackson described the sausage flavoured bean as, "not particularly nice", but dirt was "palatable". We cleansed our palates with the fruity flavours.
On the road again we left the state highway for some back roads as we made our way to the McCone Sod House, north of Jackson County near the Cottonwood River. This part of the USA, known as the Great Plains, is fairly flat land, which was mostly Prairie Tallgrass Plains when the first white settlers arrived. When they did, they found that there were no rocks to provide stone for bricks, nor trees to provide lumber for planks. The only trees we are seeing as we drive - and they are few and far between - have been planted since the settlers arrived in the Great Plains. So they were faced with a difficulty: what would they build their homes with? They answered the question by cutting 2ft x 1ft (60cm x 30cm) slices of sodden earth from the prairie, which they laid two deep to form very thick earthen walls. Thus the 'soddy', or 'sod house' was born.
This style of house was made famous in the semi-autobiographical book 'Little House on the Prairie' by Laura Ingalls Wilder, who also wrote 'Little House in the Big Woods' about her family's time in Wisconsin. Apparently, at one time there were as many as a million sod houses across the Great Plains, as homesteaders sought to provide shelter for their families for the five years required to claim the surrounding land as their own.
The McCone Sod House is a reproduction, built in the 1980s, but it is authentic in construction, having been built with sod cut using a traditional sod cutter. This is a type of sled, that was towed by horses using the weight of the farmer to push its blades 10cm into the ground, before the cross cuts were made with sod cutting knives to release a rectangular prism of sod from the ground. The prairie soil was so wet that the walls would lose 18in (45cm) from their height as the walls dried out. Inside, the one-room house would typically have space for the husband and wife's bed on the floor and a loft bedroom accessed by a ladder for any children. There would also be an enclosed fire stove, but it would have to burn twists of dry grass or 'cow wood' (aka 'cow chips', ie dried cow dung) in the absence of wood.
Abi and Anna both enjoyed dressing up in prairie dresses and bonnets, and having a go at writing on a slate board, as children of Ingalls Wilder's generation must have done. Sam was delighted to hide in the long green grass of a paddock while the rest of the family watched a History Channel report about the McCone Sod House, and then to frighten us out of our wits by popping up from the grass when we left the TV room. Josh ran around the prairie walk through the restored tallgrass, which was filled with wildflowers. Last time we came to America my attempt to visit a tallgrass prairie area was foiled by the spring burn off that had just happened, so I was very appreciative of this opportunity to see such a classic American landscape, since little of it remains today, being mostly replaced by the pervasive cornfields.
Samuel discovered what he described as "the most delicious water in America" at the McCone Sod House, from a pump near the McCone family's shed. It was 'well water', cool and fresh, and we were generously allowed to refill all our water bottles and quench our thirst before heading back to the car and onto the I-90.
We've crossed into South Dakota now, and are seeing more and more motorbikes, as people drive to the annual Black Hills Sturgis Motorbike Rally, which starts in a few days and goes for a week. Many of the bikes have tiny trailers on the back or are lumbered with huge piles of camping gear. At a rest stop, I chatted to a rider who had driven from Georgia, on the eastern coast of the USA, since this morning, an amazing distance of 1100 miles (almost 1800km). We were just overtaken by a couple on a giant hog bike, the lady passenger busy texting as her bloke focussed his attention on the road ahead. Not the first, and won't be the last, Mr Jackson reckons.
It is now 7:30pm, but the sun is well up in the sky as we travel west, set to cross into the Mountain Time Zone and go back an hour just before we stop for the night. There is still another two or three hours of sunlight to go, this far north. We are about to have Dairy Queen for dinner on the banks of the Missouri River, one of the greatest of the Mississippi's tributaries. Then we have several hours more driving to Kadoka for the night. Tomorrow, we visit the first of our long list of National Parks, Badlands National Park.
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