Buffalo back on their home ground.
… when we turn the buffalo out onto the National Grasslands, they disappear. When we push them across the Cheyenne River, the water is low and the buffalo are anxious to get across and spread out into the cedar lined canyons, the high grassy flats, and the maze of prairie dog towns that stretch for eight remote miles to the Badlands National Park. The older animals know exactly where they are going and the whole herd bucks and frolics with the buffalo-joy of moving. They splash across the foot-deep water and dissolve into the 22,000 acres of pasture like apparitions of two centuries past.
Often weeks go by when we do not see them. They pass the winter moving from one favorite spot to the next. We know some of the spots because occasionally we are able to cross the frozen river to check on them, or view them from a light airplane. When we catch a glimpse of them, they are usually in a group or two, haunting places that are inaccessible to humans in winter.
There’s always a bit of tension when spring comes and it’s time to bring the buffalo back. The date to bring them off the grasslands is set by the Forest Service and is usually the second week in April, but we start to think about bringing them back home on Saint Patrick’s Day. Over the years we have learned a few things about buffalo and spring. If the spring is early – warming in mid-March, and greening grass – they tend to split up into smaller groups, spreading out, making it more difficult to move them. If we wait, even a few days, there’s a chance that some of the dames will begin to have their calves, feel the tug of the nature, and revert to a wild, protective state. If that happens, the sight of you will cause a new mother to take off at a dead run with the tiny calf seemingly attached to her flak. They will dive into a canyon and not reappear until they top the ridge at the other side, still moving away. So the timing for bringing the buffalo off the National Grasslands is tricky. Each year requires a new calculation. This year was like nothing we had ever experienced before.
The Cheyenne River wraps around the entire southern half of the Black Hills and is running toward the north east when it passes through our ranch. In the middle of that swing is Angostura Reservoir Dam. Built to create an irrigation reservoir in 1949 by the Bureau of Reclamation. Angostura Reservoir impounds 4,566 acres of water and has a shoreline of 42 miles. Before the dam was built, the river ran wild and was known to regularly flood the valley that runs in front of our house. Since the dam, the water is tamer, but this year, after decent fall rains and record snowfall, the reservoir was full all winter. The Bureau of Reclamation began major releases of water in early March and the river ran eighty feet wide and eight feet deep at the time we needed to bring the buffalo home. It is worth noting that on March 16th of 1946 floodwaters hit the dam construction sight, washed out the work that had been done to date, and killed three workmen in the process. We had set March 17th as the date we would begin to bring the buffalo in.
But on March 17th the water was the wildest I’d ever seen – much too high and fast for me to cross to even begin gathering the buffalo. Though I could see with binoculars that the buffalo had settled in on the huge prairie dog town east of the river, there was no possible way for me to get to that side except to use the highway as a bridge and drive the pickup twenty-five miles around with an ATV in the back. From the end of the road on the east side I could pick my way around the edge of the Forest Service property and up to where the buffalo were gathered. Even though I saw no hope of getting the herd over the raging river, I spent five days making the drive to give the buffalo a little alfalfa range cake and reacquaint them to me and the ATV after a winter of isolation. After a few days they began to move toward the sound of the ATV engine. They seemed to be happy to see me and would come running, bringing the younger animals with them. Had the water been shallow I could have easily led them across river.
During those days spring came on dramatically and, with each day, it became more likely that the buffalo would scatter with the greening grass before the water receded. If they started calving and moved back into the hills, it would be pure hell to bring them home.
Everyday, before I hauled the ATV around to the other side, I checked the river. The ice had come off with the first wave of released water and icebergs as big as automobiles lined the banks, making the water’s edge even less attractive. To make things even more hopeless Gervase, would be leaving before the first of April, back to Oklahoma on family business. Time was running out.
A few days before Gervase was scheduled to leave I was desperate and fighting depression. If there would have been any way to just forget the whole thing, I certainly would have. But there was no way to forget it. So Gervase and I formed a plan: I would call him on my cell phone when I got to the only place near the buffalo where I could get reception. If he would leave the ranch then, and drive the second ATV down to the river with a bag of range cake I would try to bring the buffalo to the water’s edge. It was a pitiful plan but, if nothing else, it would serve as a training session and if the water went down before the calves began to come, I might still have a chance to get the job done on time.
It happened that on that day Jerry Blanks was at the ranch welding a gate for us. It was agreed that he would ride along with Gervase. I was two miles away and high on a river bluff on the east side of the river when I called. I could see them leave the ranch, moving like a bug across the valley toward the river. On the flat behind me was the herd of a couple hundred buffalo. They knew that I was there and a few old girls began to amble my way. The closest buffalo were a half mile away and it was three times that far to the river. The sky was huge and blue and the land was huge and dusty green, with buffalo trailing from distant draws and canyons. It was an impossible idea. As if to punctuate that fact, a red-tailed hawk freshly returned from a winter in the south, soared above and looked down at me as if to ask what I thought I was doing.
Moving buffalo takes time. If you are in a hurry it is best to wait for another day. Patience is everything. So I fooled around up on the flat until all the buffalo were gathered around and looking at me. Then I began to idle toward the ridge that led down to the river with the buffalo following along behind. By the time I got to where I could actually see the river they were strung out behind me in a long brown ribbon. Gervase and Jerry were almost to the appointed spot and so, when half the buffalo had caught up to me, I started down the hill to the tumbling, turbulent river.
I picked my way down the mile long slope, tossing out a little cake to encourage the lead animals. The herd was lined out in descending order of age except for the big, old bulls that brought up the rear. The bulls were far behind and in front of them were fifty or sixty calves, clearly enjoying this mass movement. They raced up and down, chasing each other – bucking and leaping.
I moved slow enough to keep the old bulls coming and waited just over the last hump before the river. My idea was to gather the buffalo up and take them the last few hundred yards as one pack. Finally, I was surrounded by buffalo and together we moved on to within calling distance of Gervase and Jerry.
I was in the middle of the herd and called across the flood. “I’m going to go back up the hill so I don’t distract them. You take over calling them and we’ll see what happens.” It was hard to communicate across the river but I saw both Gervase and Jerry nod and shrug. They understood me and were ready to try, so I slipped slowly away. Once I was back over that first little hill, I gained speed and headed up the long slope. I didn’t look back because I was afraid the buffalo would be following back to where they had come from. It took five minutes to get to the top and I took my time turning around and positioning myself so I could see the buffalo, the two men on the ATV, and the wild Cheyenne River between them.
They looked tiny, barely recognizable, against the scale of prairie landscape. Had I not known what they were, I would never have know that the dark mass on the east side of the river was buffalo, or that the ATV moving slowly back and forth on the west side had one man driving and one in the back foolishly shaking a bag of range cake. The only thing that was easy to see was that the river was treacherously wide and fast. Of course buffalo were known to swim rivers – the wild herds of two centuries before migrated over swollen rivers on a regular basis. But I had known everyone of these buffalo for their entire lives and I knew that not a one of them had ever been more that knee deep in water. A migrating herd of a thousand might be driven by instinct to jump into a boiling flood but it was preposterous to think that a rattling feed bag would have any effect at all.
I sat on the ATV, a mile away and two hundred feet above, and rested my chin on the steering wheel. Ridiculous, I thought. I stared at the black mass of buffalo on the bank. It looked more like giant block of dark earth than it did a herd of buffalo. Then, surreally, a small piece of the dirt broke off and fell into the water. It floated quickly downstream and toward the center of the river. Then another chunk broke away. There were a half dozen pieces of that black earth being washed down and across before I realized that they were buffalo.
I watched in awe as they swam a huge arch and reached the other side seventy-five yards downstream of Gervase and Jerry. In ten minutes the ATV had led the buffalo home to their calving grounds and I was alone on the ridge over the Cheyenne. The red-tailed hawk soared up from the hillside below me. He rose without flapping a wing, absolutely unperturbed, as if this sort of thing happened every day.
Comments 29
That is an awesome experience!
Great story, Dan. Sometimes it is so amazing what animals will do. Keep your powder dry and your word processor in high gear!
Ohhhh what a blessing for you to have done that and saw their crossing ! That story just had me riveted to the computer screen ! I’d have loved to been there . Job well done !! And thank you .
Your words paint such a picture for us! I could feel the cold water, your sinking desperation and unbelieved success as if I were there. Thank you, so much, for allowing us to experience a world we’ll likely never know.
Dan, I’m sorry to hear about the anguish that this move caused you, but what a unique and wonderful opportunity you have to learn about bison and yourself. I’m so glad that your stories give us all an opportunity to see the world through your eyes. Dennis.
Wonderful, in the original sense of the word-a seory filled with wonder!
Thank you for sharing that wonderful albeit exasperating set of circumstances with us! It just makes me that much more appreciative of these wonderful animals and the people who take such loving care of them!
Dan, how fascinating; the threads on the landscape of the moving buffalo trails as they connect back to your vision of what can exist again; these shaggy haired descendants now establishing relations with the humans in a new way with many of the instincts of their ancestors. Wishing you abundance in the calving season!
I was totally there with you! What an amazing story and adventure! As some of us will never be able to experience what you do I am so greatful for your sharing this life with us!
Thanks for sharing your unique experiences. I enjoy the way you make them so vivid for your readers.
Tricia
I love the story. As in my meadow, nature’s cycle remains unchanged by our intrusion. The Sand Hill cranes returned last week. We’re beginning to calf in northern Minnesota, too.
Thank you. As so many of your other readers, am grateful that you gave me an experience that I will never have. And thanks for being the caretakers you – and Gervase (and Jerry) are.
Dan – What a wonderful experience, story and fitting reward for all that you have done and continue to do.
What a powerful piece of writing and experience to share!
It’s a great story, and shared in a way that only you could…that makes not only the hawk, but one’s spirit soar….
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMM!
A story probably better in the telling than the living – save the ending – because the best stories are composed of fear, apprehension and a sense of “I may be doing this all wrong,” in which all the bad elements combine to make the happy ending all the more joyous. I think you turned a nervous-making experience into a great, uplifting story:congrats on both the successful crossing and one hell of a tale.
Dan,
It is always a red letter day when Wild Idea news arrives in my email. This story was no exception. Like others, I was THERE with you and thank you so much for painting the picture with your words. Thank you for all you do.
What a fantastic story..I would love to have been there an seen it…but you made it come to life in my mind…to me Buffalo are fasinating anyway, then to hear how they so easily reverted back to the way they were years ago was spellbinding…Keep up the good work raising awareness of the good things about these animals of our past…Thank You, Theresa
What a morning treat, to read about the buffalo in South Dakota. It was like I was right there. Thank you!
What a great story and beautiful picture you have painted in the telling!
I just found your website today after doing an exhaustive search for sources of food, where not only the earth is respected but the animals too! Your philosophy, the humane way you raise and process your animals, your ranch, your website… The whole shebang, brought tears of joy to my eyes (especially the you tube video of the field harvesting and the native prayer for the animal)!
Thank goodness, there are some like yourself who respect our earth and our connection to it! We are NOT above it, nor apart from it, and must learn to live as one with it… or lose it forever. Vegan Shmegan indeed!
I will be buying your book “Buffalo for the Broken Hearted” and passing it on to my Dad when I’m finished. I also can’t wait to place my first order for your very special meat.
You are doing so much more than simply raising Buffalo… Thank you for “raising awareness” too!
Kerri
Thanks for sharing this event! I love that region of the State and spend time there every Spring and Summer. You describe the land and the animals so beautifully!
Phew! What a ride. I assume it was not so much of one for the bison. Thanks Dan for keeping us “on the land” so to speak.
Wow, how nerve-racking(spelling?)and thrilling at the same time. The animals knew what to do; and all the calves made it, what a first life experience!-
Dan, Captivating writing. The story kept me glued to my MacBook screen. The suspense of wondering what the fate of the Buffalo would be as they crossed the swift moving Cheyenne. What a relief to know they made across safely.
A thrilling story, told with just the right number and choice of words!
P.S. I got acquainted with your work, both writing and bison-husbandry, through my wife’s (Regina Carver) interest in reading and experimenting with bison meat products following a trip to S.D. last summer. (Our son has recently purchased a number of acres in southwestern Custer County and we love the area.) The bison culinary treat is “something else” for this old man of three score and nineteen.
Dan,
Tell me if you agree with this:
“It is good to be lucky but better to be good!”
I could expound on this sentiment, but you must know by now…..
Peace,
Ken
ps – glad the Buffaloes crossed the water when you needed them to…..
and now, I will tell a brief story regarding my deliberations pertaining to my NC chickens.
I think they need to stay where they are because if I done bought them to here in Pembroke, VA they would likely be dead in few days…..
Anyhow, there are more leaves in my Subarban (spelling?) Charlotte, NC place and them birds just loving digging in the leaves and then getting them some bugs and then pooping of course. I expect my property there will be so fertile (more than it already is) in about 10 years or so that I will be able to grow just about anything there if I put my mind to it!
Even so, if the choice for me is to keep the chickens in general or let them go, then I will bring them to Pembroke, but otherwise, they are better off where they are.
In Virginia I ain’t no chicken farmer like I am in North Carolina. Hey is was warm in the Dakotas today wasn’t it?
In Virginia I plan on getting a vineyard going and I have already planted the first two trees that I bought here with me from my place in Charlotte!
OK enough “gibberish” from me, this story that I am only commenting upon is about some Buffalo who knew where they wanted to go!
Peace,
Ken
Pure genius, that’s what it was. The crossing, and the telling of it. Would it be OK if I or you submit it to the Boulder Camera newspaper as just an article? I think a lot of people are hearing of all the catastrophe caused the flooding. Nice to hear about an event of amazement and learning by experience.
All is well here.
Pat