Friday, September 25
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! At 3:30 AM the alarm sounds and five groggy women stagger out of bed, throw on some clothes, and pile into the White Torpedo for the 50th Annual Buffalo Roundup! The gates don't open until 6:15, but we want to get there early to beat the crowd. It's only a short drive to the south gate, so when we arrive there are only 17 cars ahead of us. Like us, they turn off their lights and go back to sleep for a couple hours. When the gates open and everyone turns on their headlights, we see a line of cars stretching behind us as far as we can see. Our strategy paid off! We get a great spot in the parking lot and sprint to the top of the south hill, which we have been told is the best viewing place.
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| Sunrise |
After selecting a likely spot, we stake our claim, spread out the bedding, and settle in for the wait. It's crisp and cool in the pre-dawn hours, and it feels good to snuggle under the sleeping bags and blankets. The roundup doesn't begin for at least another 3 hours, and our original plan is to sleep some more. But there is so much going on that sleep has become the last thing on our minds. The lure of breakfast reels in Dawn and Tiff, and they return with giant, tasty pancakes and delicious sausages for all. The crowd is excited and cheerful, and soon we are making friends with those around us. Someone dubs us the slumber party for all our blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows.
In the row behind us are the Sage family - two brothers and their sister from Ohio- and we strike up a conversation about farming, traveling, people, and all sorts of topics. Like a lot of folks we've met so far, they seem fascinated by the thought of five women traveling without men. Funny, it doesn't seem strange to us at all - we've always been an independent bunch! As the sun rises, it starts to warm up and we throw off the blankets. Cars continue to roll in, and the crowd get bigger and bigger. There's an amusing exchange between some blonde chick a couple rows back who asks Gin if she would move elsewhere to smoke. Deadpan, Gin simply answers, "No." The blonde gets a stricken expression on her face, and when Gin tells her, "There are 50,000 acres and here I am," she realizes she's met her match and moves away. Of course, everyone cracks up, and the Sage's join in. They're definitely kindred spirits. Am I a bad person for finding this exchange so humorous?
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| Just waiting! |
Cowboys begin to ride by. Dawn and I categorize them as to whether they are in her age range or mine. She gets 45 and under; I get 46 and over. We call 'dibs' on the good-looking ones, and peer at them through binoculars. The sun rises higher and a layer of clothing comes off.
The gates ares supposed to close at 9:15, but we can still see a row of vehicles snaking their way to the North hill. A yelling contest ensues between the north and south hills. They shout, and we shout back. 20,000 people can make quite a bit of noise! The five of us make even more noise when we see Harry drive by - we shout and wave, and when he finds us in the crowd he waves back. It gets hotter and hotter. We shed more layers until we're all barefoot and in tank tops. The morning's mood turns somber when Deb gets word that Vega, her beloved pit bull, is not doing well and must be put down. It's so difficult to lose a pet, and Vega was such a good dog. Goodbye, pretty girl. :-(
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| Vega |
It's almost 11:00 when a stir passes through the spectators. Here they come! The herd of buffalo streams down from the hills, chased by yipping cowboys. The crowd goes wild! Hundreds of buffalo moving en masse are a thrilling sight, straight out of the wild wild west. The herd passes directly in front of us, headed for a strip of trees where they are to turn left and cross the road to the holding corral. It all appears to be going according to plan, when about a third of the herd makes a break for it and cuts back in the direction it came from. And disappears. Seriously, hundreds of buffalo vanish before our eyes. They've dropped into a swale between two hills, then reappear just as suddenly. The cowboys race ahead and get them pointed back toward the treeline. By now, the main part of the herd has crossed the road like they're supposed to. But the rebels are milling around in the trees, and once again sprint off across the valley, this time trying a different direction.
Many of the spectators are leaving; we can see a steady stream of cars leaving the north hill. But this is getting good! The escaped herd is racing up a slope, cowboys in hot pursuit. It's amazing to watch - the buffalo are running at full speed and not only are they extremely fast but can turn on a dime as well. While they sprint one way, confused pronghorn are bounding in the opposite direction where a fence blocks their escape route. Will they jump? No! They do a tight about-face and beat a hasty retreat. Harry was right! Meanwhile at the top of the hill, the cowboys finally get the lead cow to stop. They let the buffalo mill about until they calm a little, then bring them down. This time they're successful, and the herd crosses the road to join the rest.
Wow! That was simply awesome! The branding and sorting doesn't take place until 1:00, so we have time for a picnic lunch by the van while we wait. People stop by and chat, usually asking where our menfolk are. Roundup veterans tell us this is the best one ever. Although the buffalo came into the valley slower than normal, they usually go into the corral without any trouble. This year's escapees made it much more exciting. We agree - those people who left early missed a great spectacle! After lunch, we take a shuttle bus to the corrals for the next phase of the roundup.
The herd is resting in a large holding corral. At one end, chutes and smaller pens are ready for the sorting. We take a seat on bleachers with the holding pens behind us.The fences are reinforced with highway guardrails. These animals are strong! A group of about two dozen buffalo are driven into the holding pen, but there is a big bull in among them and he has to be removed. Bulls are too mean and unpredictable to handle, so are for the most part left on the range. Some do get mixed in with the cows and calves, so must be sorted off. A small tractor with a metal grate on the front is used to push some of the animals - including the bull - back out. The larger group moves into the next corral with the encouragement of an ingenious winged gate on the front of a tractor. A group of about eight run into a small pen, and the fun begins.
Each of the buffalo must enter a narrow passageway; a gate is closed behind each one until it it his or her turn in the chute. This does not go well. They are strong, mad, and not used to being confined. Numerous attempts are made to drive some buffalo through the gate, but they keep milling and circling back. The little flags flapping in their faces are completely ineffective; so are the sticks used to pop them on the backside. Finally the cattle prods come out. That gets their attention! Finally a few are confined, but that makes them even madder. They kick and thrash and leap, the metal gates banging and crashing with the buffalo's fury, dust flying. Farm girls all, we are enjoying the rodeo.
We change position to sit on the fence where we can see the head gate and keep an eye out for Kevin Costner. The chute used for buffalo is pneumatic, with a closed box in front. The animal enters, the sides squeeze in, the neck is closed into the head gate, and the box is raised so the head is now accessible and the vet can work. Most of the animals are sent right back out onto the range after their ear tags are recorded and a pregnancy check done. Some are driven into holding pens and will be sold at the fall auction, since the range can only support around 1,500 buffalo. This year's calves, which have been diverted to different chute, are branded, vaccinated and wormed before being let loose to rejoin the herd. They don't stick around, that's for sure. Once turned out, they flee the area quickly.
Although the day has turned hot, we hang around and watch for a long time. It is fascinating to watch these wild animals up close, and see how strong and fast they are. If this were football, working cattle would be like high school, but working buffalo would be like the NFL!
Sunburnt, dusty, and exhausted, we return to Blue Bell. We never did see Kevin Costner! Although it is only 4:00, our bodies tell us it is much later. Gin starts a fire, and we take a short walk into the hills around camp. Just a few steps from the cabins, the land belongs to the wildlife. Buffalo and deer trails lead off in all directions; there is plenty of fresh poop. Evidence of an old forest fire are evident, as are some of the pyramids of logs and brush Harry told us were firebreaks, cut by the Forest Service and stacked by the inmates from Rapid City to light if needed to stop a forest fire. It's so peaceful and quiet here. Our state and national parks are treasures; places where generations to come can witness nature in its original state. I'm so lucky to be here!
Dinner is sausage and pepperoni calzones cooked over the fire. Although it is a gorgeous night, no one can keep their eyes open after the excitement of the day and the early wake-up call. We planned to organize a little for packing the van in the morning, but no one has the energy. By 8:30, we're all in bed with dreams of cowboys, Indians, and wild buffalo running through our heads. Goodnight, Custer State Park employees and volunteers. What a great day you've given us!
