A fun filled hia­tus

PATTI NICKEL NAR­RATES HIS EX­PE­RI­ENCES IN SOUTH DAKOTA WHICH EN­COM­PASSES CITIES WHICH REP­RE­SENT THE PAST AS WELL AS THE ONES WHICH EX­HIBITS ITS VI­BRANT PRESENT

The Gulf Today - Time Out - - TRAVEL -

It was one of the most thrilling ex­pe­ri­ences of my life. Af­ter what seemed like hours wait­ing pa­tiently for some­thing to hap­pen, the seis­mic shak­ing of the earth sig­naled the main show was about to be­gin.

Riders on horse­back fanned out across the top of the hill, while be­low in the val­ley the rest of us in rack trucks waited for our cue. As if a direc­tor had yelled, “Ac­tion,” 1,300 Amer­i­can buf­faloes came ca­reen­ing down the hill, with both riders and trucks tak­ing up their po­si­tions to help herd them into cor­rals.

Wel­come to the an­nual Custer State Park Buf­falo Roundup. In this an­nual event, the shaggy bi­son are in­ter­rupted from their usual nosh­ing on the park’s lush grass­lands, and rounded up for sev­eral days of sort­ing, brand­ing, test­ing and tag­ging.

With one of the largest Amer­i­can bi­son herds in the world, park staff uses the roundup to keep the pop­u­la­tion in bal­ance with avail­able land and re­sources, check­ing them out thor­oughly be­fore re­turn­ing most of them to their graz­ing a few days later.

Our group’s driver vol­un­teered that some­times the bi­son an­noyed at the in­ter­rup­tion get pretty bad-ass and refuse to co­op­er­ate, but this year, with the ex­cep­tion of one fright­ened calf that went AWOL with its mother in hot pur­suit, the herd was down­right docile. In no time at all, they were safely cor­ralled, and both par­tic­i­pants and spec­ta­tors headed off for a chuck­wagon lunch of brisket and beans.

Along with a group of na­tional and in­ter­na­tional jour­nal­ists, I had been in­vited to take part in the roundup, and to say that we were right in the cen­ter of the ac­tion is no ex­ag­ger­a­tion. The herd’s head­long rush to the cor­ral was a sight I won’t soon for­get.

The gen­eral pub­lic is not left out ei­ther. While they are not al­lowed in the thick of things as we were, they can stake out a spot for op­ti­mal view­ing as the herd comes thun­der­ing down the hill.

A WEALTH OF AT­TRAC­TIONS

The bi­son roundup was my main rea­son for com­ing to South Dakota this time, but a pre­vi­ous visit showed me the state has an em­bar­rass­ment of riches, both nat­u­ral and man-made. In the lat­ter cat­e­gory are, of course, the mas­sive stone heads of pres­i­dents at Mount Rush­more, and of Lakota Sioux war­rior Crazy Horse atop his own moun­tain.

Both never cease to amaze, but it’s the nat­u­ral won­ders of the state that hold a spe­cial ap­peal for me. On the drive to Custer State Park, I went through the Nee­dles of the Black Hills. Aptly named, the Nee­dles are gran­ite pil­lars and spires that reach up to stab the sky. The 14-mile Nee­dles High­way, with its twists, turns and tun­nels, is a scenic sight not soon for­got­ten. Beau­ti­ful any time, in au­tumn the stark­ness of the for­ma­tions is al­le­vi­ated by lush green pines and yel­low quak­ing as­pens.

An­other scenic won­der, the Bad lands, in the south­west­ern part of the state, were no doubt bad to the un­wary pil­grim trapped within the waste­land with­out wa­ter or means of sur­vival, but for to­day’s vis­i­tors, the only bad is in the name.

The 243,000-acre Na­tional Park en­com­passes the largest mixed grass prairie in the United States as well as a lu­narlike land­scape of buttes, spires and pin­na­cles, warped and twisted into fan­tas­ti­cal shapes rem­i­nis­cent of a sci­ence ic­tion ilm. If you’re lucky enough to catch a vivid sun­rise or bril­liant sunset, the in­hos­pitable ter­rain takes on a strik­ing palette of gold, hot pink, red, laven­der, in­digo and pur­ple.

A TALE OF TWO CITIES

No two cities could be more dif­fer­ent than Dead­wood and Rapid City, but they rep­re­sent the yin and yang of the state the for­mer a peek into its wild and wooly past, and the lat­ter a sym­bol of its vi­brant present.

Fans of TV West­erns know that Dead­wood in its hey­day was about as wild as the West got. Gam­blers and gun­slingers, law­men and ladies of the evening, cow­boys and cat­tle barons all played their parts in mak­ing Dead­wood the most col­or­ful town be­tween Dodge City and Cheyenne.

The two most fa­mous names as­so­ci­ated with it were Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok, whose graves can be seen in the hillside Mount Mo­riah Ceme­tery, along with those of mur­der­ers, madams and pil­lars of the town’s so­ci­ety such as it was. Af­ter tour­ing the ceme­tery, a his­toric walk­ing tour of Dead­wood’s 19th cen­tury build­ings will help put their sto­ries in con­text.

Be sure to ar­rive early at Sa­loon #10 to grab a seat for the Wild Bill reen­act­ment. Although the sa­loon was a fa­vorite wa­ter­ing hole for col­or­ful types such as Wy­att Earp, Doc Hol­l­i­day, Poker Al­ice and Buf­falo Bill Cody, it was Hickok who gave it its last­ing fame.

On the af­ter­noon of Aug. 2, 1876, he sat down for a game of poker with three friends. It was to be his last. Po­si­tion­ing him­self be­hind Wild Bill was a sidewinder named Jack McCall, who with­out warn­ing, drew his gun and shot Hickok in the back of the head.

That dra­matic scene is re-en­acted sev­eral times daily and campy as it is, never fails to draw en­thu­si­as­tic re­sponses from the as­sem­bled pa­trons.

Af­ter you’ve watched Wild Bill meet his maker, you can ad­journ up­stairs for din­ner at the Dead­wood So­cial Club whose spe­cial­ties are South Dakota buf­falo and beef.

Fi­nally, you can try your luck at one of Dead­wood’s myr­iad casi­nos, in­clud­ing those in two of its his­toric ho­tels, the Bul­lock and the Franklin.

If Dead­wood is a paean to the past, Rapid City is modern and makes a per­fect base for ex­plor­ing the Black Hills and Bad­lands. Dubbed “the city of Pres­i­dents,” there are life-sized bronze stat­ues of all past U.S. pres­i­dents scat­tered through­out the down­town streets.

One of these Franklin Pierce, the 14th pres­i­dent, stands like a bronze barker out­side the door of Mur­phy’s. He ap­peared to be urg­ing me to en­ter the iconic Rapid City restau­rant lo­cated in a ren­o­vated 1911 city garage build­ing.

Mur­phy’s is known for buf­falo meat loaf, but also try to whee­dle the code from some­one to get into its com­pan­ion speakeasy, the Blind Lion. This place is a ind that is if you can ind it and is a li­ba­tion wor­thy of its name.

Other not to be missed at­trac­tions in­clude the Jour­ney Mu­seum, a trek through the 2.5 bil­lion-year his­tory of the Black Hills and Bad­lands, and Prairie Edge Trad­ing Co. and Gal­leries, where you can shop for the high­est qual­ity Plains In­dian arts and crafts.

A sec­ond visit to South Dakota only em­pha­sized what I had learned the irst time. From Dead­wood to Rapid City, Black Hills to the Bad­lands, shootouts to scenic won­ders, bi­son roundups to gi­ant heads in gran­ite this state has it all.

Fall in the Black Hills Na­tional For­est: Au­tumn’s car­ni­val of colour bursts with vivid bril­liance in South Dakota.

His­toric Dead­wood: Walk in the foot­steps of his­toric Old West leg­ends like Wild Bill Hickok, Calamity Jane and Seth Bul­lock.

Bad­lands Na­tional Park: This strik­ing South Dakota land­scape boasts a maze of buttes, canyons, pin­na­cles and spires.

Custer State Park Buf­falo Roundup: Each fall, the ground rum­bles and the dust flies as cow­boys, cow­girls and park crews sad­dle up to bring in the thun­der­ing herd.

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